


Separating Atoms

by Itar94



Series: Building Neutron Stars [15]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Advanced Conception, Alpha Rodney McKay, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Athosians, Atlantis is basically one big family and everyone is protective, BAMF John Sheppard, Building Neutron Stars: The John/Rodney Arc, Episode: s04e03 Reunion, Episode: s04e05 Travelers, Episode: s04e07 Missing, Episode: s04e08 The Seer, Episode: s04e09 Miller's Crossing, Episode: s04e13 Quarantine, Episode: s04e16 Trio, For all the high ratings there's never been any real smut, Grief, M/M, Mentions of Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Omega John Sheppard, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Protective Ronon, Replicators, Satedans, Season/Series 04, Team as Family, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Wraith, aftermath of Major Character Death, alternative universe, but maybe this time?, drawing on canon episodes but scrambling their order, post-Lifeline, sexism in an a/b/o setting, talking about ascension but no actual ascension, yes i'm finally actually continuing this series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itar94/pseuds/Itar94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was never meant to happen.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>(Continues where Breaking Down the Walls ends, post-Lifeline.)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Hello!_  
>  _I'm sorry I haven't uploaded anything related to this 'verse for half an age. I was stuck on 'Breaking Down the Walls' (which as of yet remains unfinished) and after a lot of thinking, I've decided to put that story aside for now and just...continue. So there's a gap time-wise in the verse, like a black hole, of missing stuff. Basically what is left uncovered is the end of season three, the whole First Strike/Adrift-arc ... So there are references in this fic to things that I haven't written, yet, but you will recognize a lot from canon. Yes, I'm sorry, I'm evil - I followed canon in Elizabeth's case with the Replicators. (sorry) So: this fic picks up right after the season 3 finale. I've been sitting on these drafts for months, or possibly well over a year in the case of some scenes._  
>  ** _Thank you everyone who has read this far, and left comments and/or kudos!_** You spur me on, even if it may not be that obvious at all times. I study full-time, and right now I am also in the middle of another SGA-fic (the plot bunnies having attacked savagely again), [we are the raven and the ghost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6091879/chapters/13963222). I know I've got a lot of WIPs going on but since this installment in this 'verse is 81% written already, I promise to try keeping this one regularly updated.  
>  _Again, thank you, and please enjoy._

**closure** / ˈkloʊ.ʒɚ/  
[noun]  
_the beginning of an end;  
the silencing of sorrow_

Elizabeth is dead.

* * *

Another empty casket.

Another heap of empty words.

The void can’t be filled.

* * *

Elizabeth is dead.

For a long time no one talks about it, no one says her name. Her office still looks the same, her desk - always so orderly, never any clutter - left untouched, just like her private quarters. And for days and days, John refuses to accept, to believe. He walks past the now empty office expecting her to still be sitting there, or lounging in the Gate room, or in the mess hall.

He runs and runs laps with Ronon and neither of them speak; he spars with Teyla, and neither of them are holding back their punches. And he weeps the first night, locked in his and Rodney’s quarters where no one can see because he’s the military CO and the city’s second in command and he has to remain strong, focused, in control. Everyone expects it, demands it. It’s him they’ll turn to with questions and doubts, until someone else is posted.

A _replacement._ The word tastes so wrong.

The Gate room is quiet.

* * *

John doesn’t dream for most of the time but when he does he’s stuck on the Replicator planet, he can’t hear Ronon’s shadow behind him and in the dream he’s shouting, screaming for Elizabeth, telling her to come with them, to _hurry,_ but he’s being dragged away, and Elizabeth is ordering: _Go! Leave!_

He wakes up sweating and cold, and Rodney never asks, never presses for answers. He’s certain that Rodney has nightmares too.

* * *

Eventually something breaks, and the silence is carefully trod upon. Boxes slowly filled. Rooms cleared. Photographs moved into storage.

It’s been nine days, ten, eleven. The air smells different here on New Lantea, the salt of the ocean crisper somehow. John spends several nights standing on their balcony, miraculously still intact from the whole ordeal, and just _breathes._

Slowly, slowly things are becoming normal again. They’re recovering. They always do. They have to: this is Pegasus, and the Wraith are still out there - it’s still not safe. They have to move on. Cope. Forgive.

(They’ll never forget.)

* * *

All off-world missions have been postponed for now. The Gate remains shut except for the occasional check-in with Earth. Building work and repairs are fully underway: people are keeping busy. So much of the city is damaged, so much has to be fixed. They’re struggling with finding enough raw materials; Atlantis was built so long ago, and they don’t always have Earth equivalents that are compatible.

John has trouble sleeping. For a lot of the time, Rodney doesn’t even bother trying, staying in his lab throughout the nights instead; seeking answers to other questions, to keep focus on the here and now. To not have nightmares.

In far too short time they’ve had to dig too many graves.

* * *

With all that’s happened, all this grief and chaos, John isn’t surprised to have been able to keep his pregnancy a secret for so long. He imagines it won’t be pretty when the truth comes out, but right now Atlantis and its inhabitants have other things to deal with, bigger things.

In time all things will come to light.

* * *

The IOA and the SGC debate for eighteen days before Colonel Carter is posted in command. John knows that wasn’t it for his secondary gender he’d probably be on the short list. An alpha in command - especially one unattached to a child or mate - is less of a risk, they think. An alpha won’t end up pregnant all of a sudden, for another. Carter has all of the experience and qualities befitting a leader of an offworld base. And, for one, John’s already military CO, as reluctant they are about it (General O’Neill kind of likes him though, he knows, especially since they saved his and Woolsey’s asses that one time); they probably do not want him advancing any further up the ranks.

And now with a baby already on the way he _certainly_ wouldn’t be considered. Then there’s the black mark and his problems with orders and they all know he won’t stick to rules - not that Elizabeth did, either, but she was a civilian. Until the IOA finds a civilian to their liking to take over, Colonel Carter is to be in charge. At least she’s a veteran and stepping through the Gate for her is as natural as breathing; they don’t need a newcomer on base. She’s been through so much crazy stuff that this might just be a refreshing change of air.

(Well, ignoring the Wraith and the Replicators and the general mess that is the Pegasus galaxy).

But he is relieved. He saw what they did with Elizabeth - all the politics, the ever-changing rules only to suit whatever the IOA wanted and the rest of that crap - it’s not his thing at all. He can’t fly a desk. Carter, he supposes, having read the reports, might understand that.

* * *

Carter is beamed down from the Daedalus, orbiting around New Lantea, on a sunny afternoon. She puts on a smile, her strong back straight, the dress blues perfectly pressed, medals polished. They’re all waiting in the Gate room. And it’s so fucking wrong, John thinks, it was always meant to be Elizabeth to be leading them. He has nothing against Carter personally - her track record is pretty great - but she shouldn’t be here. But he doesn’t let it show on his face (he hopes) as he stands at attention.

"Colonel. Welcome to Atlantis."

And she pretends that everything is fine as she answers, returning his salute, "Thank you, Colonel."

* * *

They get into the rhythm of things quickly enough, John supposes. That’s the thing with Stargate Command in general and with Atlantis in particular; they’ve been through a lot of dark stuff, they’ve all seen bad things, they’ve all been hardened through shock and pain and grief. They can adjust. They may not always like it, but they can adjust. And Carter is, admittedly, good at what she does. She’s a good pilot, a good soldier and a damned good scientist - she’s is going to be a good leader once they all get used to it. And she’s got a lot of hands-on Gate travel experience - she knows all the risks of what may be out there, and yet is always eager to explore.

Yeah, she may be all right, John thinks. It’s not her fault that people still have trouble looking her in the eye and addressing her correctly, that some still turn to the office calling out Elizabeth’s name - it’s not her fault.

* * *

It should be a dream, a nightmare. They should wake up soon. But there’s no alarm, and soon everyone realizes that there is no waking up.

* * *

There’s an Earthside memorial, as well as the Gate ceremony. Some old family of Elizabeth’s are invited and old Earth colleagues and John goes with Rodney, but Ronon and Teyla aren’t allowed. It’s unfair, but the IOA aren’t quick enough to evaluate them, to enable them to move freely on Earth. Instead they’re staying on Atlantis, watching over Marie for them.

(There was a mourning ceremony amongst the Athosians, improvised in one of the grand halls in the lower levels of the city; it should have taken place outside under the open sky, but they don’t have the mainland anymore. The Athosians have lost their home a second time.)

Before they’re to step through the Gate, Teyla embraces him in the Athosian fashion, their foreheads touching; Ronon doesn’t say anything but claps his hand briefly around John’s arm, and no words need to be exchanged for them to understand. They say goodbye to Rodney the same way, and then Rodney doesn’t ask anything but John offers his hand - a rare open display - and Rodney takes it, squeezes it for comfort.

Twenty hours later, Earth time, they’re in the state where Elizabeth grew up in, this cozy little town that John won’t be able to think of without _remembering._ There are a couple of distant relatives, a cousin, an uncle. There’s a pastor saying a few words, but John can’t listen properly - everything is just white noise. The grave is empty, the headstone small, easily overlooked. And John speaks quietly, unable to tell exactly how extraordinary Elizabeth was because of disclosure agreements, and the words almost get stuck in his throat.

After, lingering on the stretch of grass, a man approaches, introducing himself as Simon. An ex-partner, maybe husband, but he doesn’t specify. And he was given permission by the president to know about the SGC, the Gate, about where Elizabeth was going right before they first left to find Atlantis. They’d exchanged the occasional email once Atlantis had gotten back in contact with Earth, he says, but Elizabeth remained distant, so far away, too in love with the stars to linger. He doesn’t ask how she died. He only asks if she was happy, happy with her achievements and what she did.

John’s chest is still aching, but at least Rodney’s there, his hand gently curved around his own.

"She was. Never doubt that," he answers even if it’ll never be enough. "She’s ... she’s a hero. She saved all of our lives."

* * *

Returning to Atlantis he and Rodney feel hollow and tired, as if they have both aged ten more years overnight. He doesn’t want to move or do anything, just sleep for an age. Wake up in a different time, with Carson and Elizabeth alive. With all the people they’ve lost and failed still alive.

But there’s no time to rest.

They have to keep moving.

* * *

Elizabeth is dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Within a week they have their first off-world mission for over a month.

And there’s a regular post-mission check-up with Dr Keller, and she doesn’t know about the scan Carson did in secret or any of those things. They’d never briefed her, and then the attack had happened - Elizabeth - and then, in the chaos, John had in a naive, obstinate way thought that for a while - just for a while - things might be an echo of normal. So he hadn’t told her, and Rodney hadn’t thought of it, and no one had pressed the issue.

At the look on her face John has to hold back a wince - he’s gone through this before, hiding and then having to face the consequences. His excuses feel weak and dusty; that the time never was right. That too much was happening, too much chaos and grief. Keller reigns back any anger or shock she might have pretty quick, though.

"You knew, didn’t you?" she asks instead, having gone over the test results, double-checked it, cleared away any doubts. "You knew you were pregnant."

"Yeah," he admits; no point in hiding it. "Since the mission to P8X-298."

She doesn’t know exactly what that is, what the mission was or when; it’s before her time. She has to check reports; but just not knowing about it tells her everything, really.

"All right. Well, you’re eight weeks along now and you’re not showing at all, which is slightly worrying but it’s a very individual. I read the medical reports on your last pregnancy and you had quite little growth and weight gain there as well, so it’s fits your profile. But I’m going to keep an eye on you. I’m also removing you from active duty." As a medical doctor she has the rights to go above anyone’s rank and orders in that regard.

"Wait, doc-" The protest begins to slip out before he can stop it.

Carson hadn’t done that. Elizabeth hadn’t done it. They’d still _allowed_ - But she’s not Carson, and Elizabeth is no longer here. Others are in charge now. He has no idea how Carter is going to react.

"I’m not saying anything else on the matter, not until I’ve had you properly examined and evaluated, and all test results come back from the lab. Am I right to guess that Colonel Carter doesn’t know about this?"

"Yeah, you’re right," John sighs. "She doesn’t."

"Does _anyone_?"

"Only my team." He doesn’t bother mention Carson or Elizabeth. Does it even matter? The bitterness clawing in his throat - they’re dead. They’re dead and gone and had left no bodies behind to bury. There’s nothing but an empty echo, the shocked stillness, and no one will ever forget.

Keller frowns. Maybe wondering why the team was still were going on missions, still insisting on it, if they knew. She still doesn’t know them that well (had she, the answer had been obvious). "I’m going to have a word with Colonel Carter right away."

Knowing it’s inevitable and drawing it out will only make it harder, John says, "I’ll come with you." He’d rather rely the news in person to Carter; it might be less painful this way.

* * *

Carter accepts the medical folder with a smile, which fades rapidly into a questioning frown. Unlike Keller, she’s up to date on the mission reports, and she knows what '298 is, what happened there; Carson wrote a half-true report. A dizzy spell or low blood sugar or something (which technically it _was_ ), John thinks he called it in the end; not a contagion or disease as they’d first feared, but nothing like this either. He’d been brought back through the Gate barely conscious, carried by Ronon, taken to the infirmary at once and quarantined. Only it’d turned out he wasn’t sick at all. Carson had deleted the scan they’d done from all logs and records; but Keller had scanned him now, taken blood samples, done various tests and the data is right on front of Carter now. It doesn’t lie.

"Colonel," she says, "a word, please." Then she turns to Keller, thanking her before dismissing her.

Heart sinking John stiffly takes seat in the chair in front of her desk, when Carter gestures at it, refusing to have him standing there.

Once the door is closed, Carter goes on, "Honestly, I’m not certain what to do. I know that you were kept on active duty during you last pregnancy, and there were no issues until you were trapped on P3X-GH4, and you know much better than I what happened there. But I have no choice; we don’t want to take unnecessary risks. You’re off active duty as of now."

John bites back a sigh. He’d a hunch that’d happen. "Any chance I’ll be back anytime soon, Colonel? I’m not _injured._ " Not completely indisposed. It’ll be weeks, months (hopefully) until the changes to his body becomes apparent enough to weaken him physically.

"I understand your desire to return to the field, Colonel, I do, but as commander of this base I simply cannot allow it, at least not without further evaluation and advice from Dr Keller."

He tries to crack a smile, even if it tastes ill in his mouth. "I’m sure you’ve heard how badly desk duty suits me." He uses to delegate some of that to Lorne. The guy is much better at it - one could almost believe he thinks paperwork is _fun._

"I know, but my orders still stand." Then she smiles a little. "Oh, and congratulations, John." She looks like she’s about to dismiss him, and he hesitates.

Should he tell her the full truth? She probably thinks that the baby must’ve been conceived just before Rodney’s whole ascension ordeal. That’s what Keller must have thought too. But once they start looking into it more closely, do the calculations ...

"Actually, Colonel, there’s something both you and Dr Keller should know." He nods when Carter reaches for her earpiece, and summons Keller from the infirmary. Yeah, better tell them both right away and get it over with. It’s an awkward wait those six minutes before Keller gets there - they’re lucky she wasn’t busy with a patient - slightly out of breath. At least there are transporters nearby. The doctor takes a seat a little warily, looking concerned.

Right. "Dr Beckett found out about this right after Ronon, Teyla, Staff Sergeant Mason and I went to P8X-298," he starts and Carter nods.

"Yes, I read that. There was a concern for a contagion, wasn’t it?"

"Yeah. Turns out it wasn’t; I was the only one seemingly affected. Beckett did a full exam and figured with the blood work about the pregnancy, and he did a scan. He didn’t put it in the medical reports, though."

Keller is frowning again. "Why not?"

"Because it didn’t really... it didn’t make sense. At the time Rodney was ascended." It’s still so strange to talk about it, to think of it. Wrong, somehow. "He’d been gone for several days, and Beckett concluded the numbers simply didn’t add up. He double-checked, but it was obvious that, well, that Rodney couldn’t have a had a hand in it - and I’m pretty sure I did none of the necessary bits either in the time when Beckett thinks conception occurred ..."

And then, following because she’s frighteningly smart, Carter’s eyes widen. For a moment she looks like she’s fishing for words; unusual for her, because she usually know what to say. "Colonel," she says, quietly. "John, are you telling me -"

"That Rodney still had a hand in it, while ascended, then yeah."

"That's ... whoa." Carter pauses, considering for several moments. No doubt she’s thinking about everything she knows of ascension, including of the whole thing with Vala and the Ori.

"I’m sorry if I’m a bit out of the loop here," Keller says then, watching them both intently, "but what exactly does that mean?"

"We don’t really know," Carter says thoughtfully. "Do we? The only similar thing we know of is time when the Ori impregnated Vala in order the cheat the rules, as it were, concerning interference and knowledge."

"I read the reports," John says, recalling; SGC had been warned of the Ori’s coming and plans by Vala, through a communication device connecting her to Dr Jackson, essentially taking over his body when she was using it. "Uhm, so I’ve been sort of wondering, if ..." He leaves the question unfinished in the air, but Carter catches on. It’s nice to hear someone voice his concerns aloud, trying to answer them. He’s had these things at the back of his mind for so long now.

"It shouldn’t be like that, if what you say is true. The circumstances are completely different. The Ori or the Ancients shouldn’t have anything to do with your pregnancy, and I doubt that McKay would have had some kind of ulterior motive." _Unless,_ is left unsaid, _unless Rodney isn’t the one behind it._ But in that case who or what? "But I understand you concerns and we must proceed with caution. If what you say is true then we have no idea what’s in store."

"So, it may be a completely ordinary pregnancy or something I’ve never been trained to deal with?" Keller asks, uncertainty written on her face. She’s clearly feeling uneasy and out of her depth.

"Exactly," Carter nods. "I assume Rodney knows you’re expecting?" she turns to John, who nods.

"Yeah. He figured it out eventually. And no, he doesn’t have any memories of being ascended, so he doesn’t know how or why this happened."

Always so many questions and too few answers.

"Well," Carter says at length, "I have a lot to consider. Keller, I want further test results as soon as possible. John, if _anything_ feels out of the ordinary I want to know right away. We have no idea what signs a child conceived during ascension could exhibit, if any at all. Either way we have to know." Then she stands, handing back Keller the folder. The doctor takes it and, with a pen drawn from a pocket, makes a note in a margin, something about _ascension_ and _advanced conception_ that John glimpses in the corner of his eye. She’s going to be in for quite a lot of research. "I guess an official announcement is going to have to be made," Carter says, turning to the omega. "Would you like to, or shall I?"

"Go ahead, Colonel. I’m not really good at that kind of thing." He has a team to tell that he can no longer go with them on missions, no longer lead them. Ronon’s going to be completely understanding, both about the safety risks and what John feels about it all. Teyla, he figures, will be relieved, and Rodney too, except they’ll debate whether to continue as a team of three, or take on another temporary member. Rodney certainly isn’t fond of other people stumbling into SGA-1 and claiming a spot there.

"Very well. Dismissed."

* * *

Two hours later, word has gotten around the city and circulated at least twice. He’s tried avoiding the most crowded rooms and hallways, even the gym, and spent time in the nursery instead. But it’s inevitable when people begin to approach. Lorne is one of the first, which is sort of a relief because the guy doesn’t just congratulate him in an awkward voice or act weirdly (as some newcomers are bound to do, as if thinking he’s suddenly caught some contagion and/or is going to be struck by potentially dangerous mood-swings).

"So when’s the little one due then?" Evan asks instead, dropping the ’sir’.

"In mid-July, the doc says," John answers. "Earth time, that is. I’m not certain yet how long the months are on this planet." The scientists are working on establishing a new Standard Atlantis Time, but they’ve been busy with a lot of other things too, stabilizing the city, repairing all and any damage they’re able to. Other issues have been put aside, having to wait.

"Don’t ask me! It’s confusing enough to have two moons, now." For a moment Evan smiles, then it drops a little. "I heard Colonel Carter’s taken you off active duty."

"Yeah, a precaution most likely. Considering what happened with Marie and the Sanctuary and all that."  
Humming, Lorne nods. "Right. Well, that’d better not happen again." Or Rodney might cause someone bodily harm or blow up another solar system. Not to speak of Teyla and Ronon. "What about SGA-1?"

"Actually, about that, I was thinking of having you on in my stead for the moment. I know you’re leading SGA-2 now, but I was considering Staff Sergeant Mason for the job. Temporarily, until I’m cleared by Keller."

For a rare moment Lorne seems utterly floored. To be placed in the premiere Gate team - it’s a huge thing, whether on Earth or in Pegasus. True that SG-1 had much more of a reputation and high holding than any SGA team has ever had; SGA-1 still usually gets the most interesting (but sometimes most dangerous, or crazy or plain unexpected) missions. "Sir, I don’t know what to say."

"Think about it. I’ve already asked Carter to consider it."

"Thank you, sir. It’d be an honour."

For the first time in so many days, John smiles; an honest, real smile, small but true. "Oh, easy there, Major. We both know which kind of jobs my team tends to get. But think of it this way: the botanists won’t bother you."

"I’ll think about it, sir," Lorne says, smiling weakly. This isn’t something he can accept on a whim, but - on the other hand, John is certain he won’t refuse, and there’s no better person he can think of for the job.

* * *

And the very next day it’s official that for an unspecified time from now on, Major Lorne will be leading SGA-1. He’s a dependable guy, clever, good fighter, and John trusts him to do his job well; the others know him better than, say, Mason, and even Rodney doesn’t dislike him that much. Plus Lorne can give him the unofficial, outside-the-report version of events of all missions they go on without being all nervous and out of sorts, dropping formality rather fast when John asks him to. Carter seems pleased with the choice as well, and soon enough the temporarily new team is sent on their first mission together.

Before they go, Rodney complains that it’s ridiculous, why shouldn’t John be with them? It’s not like he’s _injured_. Which is rather comforting to hear, but John has to cut off Rodney’s tirade unless he’ll miss the dialling out.

"Bring me a souvenir, will you?"

"A ZedPM if I find one," Rodney promises.

(Nothing but the finest will do.)

* * *

They don’t find a Zero Point Module or any Ancient tech (which is a disappointment). But they do find something else - or _someones._

* * *

Ronon has always been a quiet man, but he’s in such an odd mood when the team returns. John finds the Satedan in the gym, stubbornly punching a bag so hard that it’s about to break apart. Frankly John gets worried. Something’s off here. The reports haven’t been handed in yet.

"Hey, what happened out there?"

For a long time Ronon doesn’t say anything.

Then:

"I thought they were dead."

Oh.

_They._

Satedans. They must’ve run into Satedan survivors.

Gently, as not to startle the big guy (several marines have been in there watching and slowly backed away, probably terrified of being beaten into bloody pulps for the slightest misfortune) John nears him, settling on one of the benches lining the west wall, under the tall multicoloured windows. He lets the man pound away at the bag for a while, until he stills, at which point John hands him a bottle of water.

Eventually Ronon will talk, when he’s ready for it. And John has got a feeling he’ll rather want to hear it here, now, in person, than read it in a mission report later. Besides, Ronon’s reporting skills have always been ... lacking. This won’t be the kind of information that the others of the team will have access to, either.

Taking several long gulps, the alpha slowly backs down. His knuckles are red and raw - he’d not used gloves or any kind of protection. The Satedan usually does that; he’s been berated in the past by Carson enough times that John had thought he’d gotten the message to be more careful, but apparently not.

"... They died. Killed during an off-world op on a Wraith base," Ronon says, not looking at him. "They never came back. There was a funeral on Sateda."

Shit, so he was right about that hunch. John doesn’t know what to say. What do you say when your teammate’s dead friends have turned out not to be dead?

But then why’s Ronon so angry? Shouldn’t he be happy, relieved, glad to know that he’s not the last Satedan in this galaxy? 

Testing the waters, John asks, "Who did you find?"

"Tyre. Rakai." The man shudders, doesn’t look at the omega for a moment. Quietly: "Ara."

Those are names. Names of people Ronon has known, maybe fought beside. Sateda had fought back like that, striking various Wraith bases as best they could, tried to stave off cullings - and Ronon could have been there, on that very mission when they were lost; been there when the empty graves were dug. John doesn’t ask for details.

"We were in the Planetary Forces together. Ara, she..." And there’s so much still that he doesn’t know about Ronon and his past, John realizes. So much he never talks about, never shares, doesn’t want to remember. "She and Melena were Lifemates."

Shit. John knows that name; Ronon had been her Guardian, he’d explained that, and even if he’d not elaborated further John is certain that he loved her.

"Once, before, I had to tell her that Ara was dead."

Ronon’s shoulders sag, and John stands, somehow managing to guide the man to sit down before he collapses under his own weight.

"Now I had to tell Ara that Melena is dead. That all of Sateda is dead."

There are no words enough to console. Ronon’s face is ashen and drawn, fists clenched tight. He’s breathing like he’s run a thousand miles and is running out of air, like he’s lost the path. "You’re still alive," John tries. "Ara, and ... Rakai and Tyre, and you, Ronon. _You’re still alive._ Maybe others -"

"Melena’s dead," Ronon repeats, voice tired and raspy and his eyes much older than his years. "I saw her die ... the explosion. And I told Ara. _I failed them_."

And John has no idea what to answer, if there is an answer.

It takes several long moments, and Ronon doesn’t cry but almost, shuddering and screaming inwardly. But John won’t let him get up until he’s certain the man can stand and talk half-complete sentences (as he usually does) and walk on his own. Then, he doesn’t take him to the infirmary for Keller to have a look at his knuckles but suggests that they go for a run together.

Hearing the mission brief and reading reports can wait.

* * *

Over an hour later John returns to his quarters high on adrenaline and still with a rushing pulse, to find Rodney trying to teach Marie mathematics on the floor. Ronon has lingered in the communal showers, but John prefers the private one here - if nothing else it puts a lot of the marines at ease (they’re all acting a bit weird about the pregnancy, as if the news haven’t sunk in yet).

The alpha glances up when the door slides open. "Oh, there you are, I was just about to radio for you."

"Took a run with Ronon. The big guy needed it."

"Oh." Some kind of realization dawns on Rodney’s face. He must have noticed the tension, the emotion the surprise meeting with the Satedans too.

"So we both missed the post-mission briefing."

"Don’t worry about that," Rodney says, "Carter was a little miffed but she’ll probably understand, if you tell her. Teyla handled most of it anyway, as usual, and Lorne too."

While searching through the nearby wardrobe for a towel, John asks, "Does he get an A or an F, then?"

"Well, he’s much better than what’s-his-name, that one who keeps getting into trouble and stung by alien insects and stuff all the time." Oh, that poor Lieutenant Moore. Yeah, the guy has to have the worst luck ever; he’s quite a frequenter of the infirmary. "Lorne at least knows common off-world protocol." Which is high praise coming from Rodney.

Good. Means that his team will survive just fine without him. At least it’s not Teyla who’s out of commission, John quietly reflects. In the years they’ve worked together she’s gotten them several alliances and hindered at least half a dozen interplanetary disputes thanks to her diplomatic skills.

"Ronon told me a bit what happened. Want to fill me in?"

"Oh, that. Yeah. It was really weird. We found this typically medieval society - not a light bulb to be seen - and decided to enter this tavern. These three people were sitting by the bar; two men, one woman. They were sort of similar to Ronon, in terms of clothing, and they already carried weapons that definitely didn’t belong on P4X-209. One moment we’re trying to talk to the bartender, just get a feel of the locals, then one of them - the woman, an alpha - she’s walked up to Ronon and got her gun pointed at him. Lorne and Teyla, they drew their P-90s and I thought a fight was imminent, but then the woman starts smiling and she and Ronon have a huge embrace." Rodney pauses. "It was confusing. I’ve never seen the big guy so...so _happy_ to hug people. Apparently they were old buddies from the Satedan Army. Tyre, I think, uhm, Rakai and ... Ara? Yeah. Those were their names. It took awhile, then Ronon starting getting ... well, quiet. Really quiet and by that I mean even more than usual and it wasn’t just his way of looming and looking dangerous. He looked..." Rodney pauses, uncertain for once. "I’d say he looked a grieving man."

"More than that," John fills in. "Remember when he explained that thing about Guardians? Apparently Ara and Melena, to whom Ronon was a Guardian, were mated and married, back on Sateda."

"Oh, shit. So that ... I mean, Ronon went to talk privately with her for a bit, away from the others... That explains a lot. Is Ronon OK?"

The oddly caring question is a real sign of Rodney’s growth from an arrogant ass during the past few years, into the man he is now. John sighs a little. "He’ll be all right in a while. Just, don’t set him off right now."

"I’d never set him off!" Rodney cries. "Who’d even dare do that? The guy could beat anyone into the floor in three seconds flat."

* * *

It’s late, nearing midnight but Carter is still in her office, working on something on her computer when John gets there. She looks up from the screen when he knocks on the wall next to the glass doors; he’s not certain anymore how to act here, if he can still walk right in unannounced and unasked for. But she smiled a little in greeting and doesn’t seem to mind.

"Lots of paperwork, Colonel?" he asks by way of greeting.

"You could say that. How can I help you, Colonel?"

"It’s about the Satedan survivors they encountered on P4X-209," he begins, and need not say more because she shakes her head a little, already understanding what he’s going to ask, or good at guessing it.

"Ronon has already asked me, and truth is I cannot allow them on this base until I know what kind of risk they may pose. But," she adds, seeing his fallen expression, the sternness around his mouth, "I’m not completely against the idea. I just want to meet them myself first. They’re still on '209, and I’m going there tomorrow with your team."

"With you permission, Colonel, I’d like to be there as well." He can see that she’s considering it, that she’s weighing the pros and cons, and protocol. Yes, protocol dictates that should the commander leave Atlantis then the second-in-command, which is him as military CO, should stay. But Elizabeth had played fast and loose with some of the rules; maybe all of them at some point. And Carter has got to understand. She’d do the same for her teammates. "Not as a leader of my team, but as a friend of Ronon."

After a while, she agrees; Lorne would have to stay behind, though, but John doesn’t think the man will mind. It’s not a proper mission he’ll be missing out, either, but a meeting with refugees seeking a sanctuary. Nothing very exciting. And John wants to welcome them here, to give them a home; to give Ronon back at least a little piece of his past, his people.

"We dial out at 09:00 hours tomorrow, Colonel. Full gear."

"Understood. Thanks, Colonel."

She just shakes her head, smiling a little. "Don’t worry about it, John. He’s one of your team. I’d do the same."

* * *

P4X-209 is like a hundred other worlds they’ve visited, just as Rodney described it. It’s rather bland, not much setting it apart from any other place that’s been ravaged by the Wraith for generations and generations. The Stargate is set in the middle of a field which is divided by a broad path. Apparently this place is usually frequented by travellers and merchants; the road has few forks, leading straight to a large village with a lively center.

It’s afternoon when they arrive, according to the sun in the sky, and the streets are full of people. There’s life, chatter, children running around laughing. For now, this afternoon, all seems peaceful and quiet, so calm; no Wraith are here, nothing to haunt them. '209 is on the edge of a large Wraith territory, not in the middle of it, which means it doesn’t get culled as often. The last culling was well over a year ago now; the people has moved on, moved on as they all must do, recovered. It’s nearing the end of summer now, and the harvest has been rich.

John is acutely aware of Ronon walking beside him. The man is tense, far too tense; the guilt, the pain and grief of old memories are yet fresh. On the alpha’s other side is Teyla, like a steadying buffer between the Satedan and the rest of the world. On John’s left, Rodney is quietly fretting, fiddling with a strap on his backpack. Silently observing, Colonel Carter is taking up the rear. They’re all in full gear (or what counts as their full gear since Ronon has very rarely worn a bullet-proof vest), and their black uniforms are getting warm in the hot sunlight; they’re not too far away from the planet’s equator, John figures.

They reach a tavern in a few minutes’ walk. Inside it’s much darker, the only sources of light a couple of small windows and many candles and chandeliers; there’s not a lot of people inside it yet because of the early hour. There’s a couple of youngsters by a table playing some kind of game involving a dice, it looks like, and an elderly person by the bar, drinking from a wooden jug. The barman sees them and must recognize Ronon, Rodney and Teyla from the day before, because he waves them over without looking confused or afraid.

"Greetings, travellers, welcome back. Would anyone like a mug of ale?"

Carter comes forward and smiles, "Thank you, but no. We’re here to meet a group of three that some of our team met here yesterday. We hope we haven’t missed them. One woman, two men, travellers from afar."

"They’re just upstairs," the man says, gesturing toward a set of wide wooden stairs to the left of the bar. There’s an open space there, a balcony overlooking the room below, and from there they can hear the clinking of jars and voices.

* * *

There are several tables there. Only one is occupied; two men, one woman. It has to be them.

Ronon hesitates for a brief, brief moment, before walking forward, and the rest follow. These are the remnants of Ronon’s people and he should be the first to greet them. While he does that John takes a moment to observe them; the woman, Ara, alpha, has dark hair pulled back in a knot, and is wearing practical clothes of leather and skins, and other materials that look enduring and well-worn. There’s a holster around her left thigh, with a gun of a different design than Ronon’s but pretty advanced. The other two, one beta and another alpha, are similarly garbed and also carrying weapons that are too advanced to have been procured here. They look rather happy, they’re half-drunk and smiling and laughing, leaping up to embrace Ronon tightly and shake hands. And if Ara is angry, disappointed or upset with Ronon she doesn’t show it.

"Hello. I’m Colonel Samantha Carter, and this is Lt Colonel John Sheppard. Teyla and Dr McKay you’ve already met."

"So, you’re the Colonel Carter who’s the leader of your people?" questions one of the men, the alpha. "I’m Tyre Kaegan. This is Rakai Jin, and Ara Kyrin." He smiles, turning first to Carter and then to John, pausing momentarily and John doesn’t miss the slight twitch in his expression, minuscule but still sharply noticeable. It’s not the first time that he’s been faced with such a reaction, so John manages to ignore it pretty well. "And this has to be the John Sheppard that Ronon told us about yesterday."

"Only good things, I hope," John says and smiles like he always does at locals that could be a threat but hopefully aren’t, the kind of smile strangers receive when he’s greeting them or wants information. He can’t put his finger on it exactly, but something about Tyre is giving him odd, almost creepy vibes. _Maybe,_ he thinks when the alpha’s gaze roams over his body in a way it hadn’t over any of the others, _**that’s** the reason._

Like pretending he didn’t hear him speak, Tyre goes on, "Didn’t tell us you’re omega though! And a handsome one as well. Aren’t you a lucky, lucky man, Ronon."

"Tyre," mutters Rakai, "will you for once stop thinking with your knot?"

A dark looks crosses Ronon’s face, just for a bit, but enough for John to notice. It’s both worrying and warming to know that the Satedan cares more for his comfort and well-being and all that, than for what his old friends think. Or maybe it’s such a fine line that Ronon isn’t sure how to react.

"Yes, well," Rodney says loudly, interrupting, and John could kiss him for that. Tyre still glances at him, but it’s not as unnerving as before; and John feels better knowing he’s carrying his P-90 and nine-mill both. "We’re here, like we said we would be, and we’re considering if you can come with us, like we said we would."

"Yeah, we’ve been wondering about that," says Ara. "Are you really from the Ancestral city? Ronon refused to show us the address, so how can we know you’re not lying?"

"We’re not lying," says Carter, taking seat. "But it’s true we keep the address a secret, as a precaution that I’m sure you can understand. We have had much trouble with the Wraith." One good thing now was their new location; neither Wraith nor Replicators should know where they are right now, and for a time they’ll be safe from an attack on the city itself. "Atlantis is very real, and we can offer you a haven there."

"Ronon told us you fight the Wraith. That you face them in battle, not running away," says Rakai, a slight doubt to his tone.

"Yeah, we do that," John says.

Again, the alpha across the table doesn’t seem to pay any heed to what he says, only smile in that slightly condescending way which John has encountered a couple of times before on other planets. It’s always come from alphas and especially from men, whose approach and tone toward him sometimes have made complete turnarounds when they get to know that he’s omega. It never happened on Earth, while he was still hiding, not toward him directly; but he’s not blind or stupid. He just hates that such attitudes still exist, and on so many worlds too. Too few places they’ve been have been without prejudices like that.

And he remembers when Ronon first came to Atlantis, in the beginning, when the Satedan had been weirded out by Earth culture. When he’d considered it strange, too risky, to have John, an omega, on an offworld team, to be part of the military. And it’d taken a while for Ronon to see things differently; John has long since forgiven him for all of that, and instead found such amazing comfort in having the Satedan on his team and part of his family. He doesn’t regret that one bit.

Maybe these three could integrate just, or nearly, as well. They should be given a chance, at least. They’re Ronon’s people.

"If you come with us, you’ll be given shelter and food and eventually you’ll become one of us, but you must never reveal the location of the city," Carter is saying.

"We will not betray those who offer us aid. We have _honour._ We’ve been running for so long now, trying to find a home, that ..." Ara’s voice falters. "... we almost gave up hope."

"But then Ronon appeared!" cries Tyre. "Saving the day, as always." He pats the big man on the back. "Cheers, friend!" He grabs the nearest jug of ale - at least John think it’s some kind of ale - and downs it in one go.

Rodney’s shifting from foot to foot now, looking restless. Teyla, for her part, has been suspiciously quiet; John will have to ask her if anything’s wrong, if it has anything to do with the Satedans or is completely unrelated. But it still strikes him as odd, because Teyla is usually so good at separating personal issues from a mission.

"Why don’t we toast on it?" suggest Rakai, grinning. "On this new opportunity."

"Yes, why not," says Carter, voice carefully optimistic, and she exchanges a look with Ronon who nods. He’s sitting next to Ara and looks like he’s not sure whether to laugh or cry, and John has no idea what to say that might ease him a little. Ara doesn’t seem tense or bothered at all. Maybe the long years they’ve been apart has changed them? Though she was told the news about Melena yesterday, she must have suspected or known for a long time - she has no planet anymore.

"Barman!" shouts Tyre over the bannister, catching the attention of the man below, and he rattles off an order. They have no choice but to all sit down now, and Rodney sits stiffly next to Carter and John slides in beside him. Soon enough the barman is scrambling up the stairs with an overloaded tray, and Tyre hands him several coins that must be the currency used on this planet. Then the Satedan turns to them and smiles, as mugs are being grabbed or handed out. "Cheers!"

Ara hands one mug to John, when the omega doesn’t reach for one himself. But before he can get a word in edgewise (one that may seem more polite, maybe), Rodney says, "He’s not drinking."

The Satedan looks curious and Rodney, who really doesn’t think things through sometimes, adds, "Baby on the way."

Of course everyone hears that, and Tyre frowns a little before smoothing the expression out. "Well, cheers for that too then! Ronon, why didn’t you tell me you’re a father-to-be?"

"I’m not," Ronon says, voice tight but still like he doesn’t dare raising it to anger his old friends; torn, again. "The child isn’t mine."

"Oh. Pity, that, isn’t it, old friend? I thought he’d be a good match for you."

Couldn’t they _please_ stop talking like he’s not even sitting here, like he’s just a thing? John is _this_ close to standing up and breaking the guy’s nose. That might bring a halt to negotiations, and John doesn’t want to dislike Ronon’s people; he wants to believe in giving them a chance.

Thankfully Teyla smoothly manages to cut in, raising her mug: "Let us cheer! To friendship!"

_"To friendship!"_

* * *

(They’ve never been so wrong. But they don’t know that yet.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The first names for the Satedans are canon, but I have invented surnames/family names for them; since Ronon is actually called Ronon Dex in full, I assume that all Satedans have names by the same system._


	3. Chapter 3

The walk back to the Gate is quiet, except for Tyre and Rakai who are talking excitedly with each other. Both Ara and Ronon are more subdued; Rodney and Carter have begun discussing some scientific report they’d both read earlier that week, something on radiation, and John tunes them out as he’s taking up the rear along with Teyla. She’s still quiet and keeping two very sharp eyes on the Satedans.

"Hey, you all right?" John asks her softly so the others won’t hear.

"I am fine, John," she answers in a similar tone of voice. "It is nothing but a ... hunch."

(Her hunches could be pretty correct and pretty strong.)

"Just let me know if there’s anything," he says.

"Of course. It may be nothing more than tension," Teyla adds. "I am concerned for Ronon. And I did not particularly like the way Tyre addressed you earlier."

"It’s fine," he is the one to reassure her now. Seriously, it is. Well, it isn’t, but if the guy weren’t old friends of Ronon he would’ve punched him in the face. Teyla should know that. "Honestly, it’s fine. And yeah, I think we’d better keep an eye on Ronon." He seems calmer now than yesterday, but nowhere near healthy. He refuses to let go of the guilt of failing Melena and Ara, and they’re not sure how to comfort him. Maybe he just need to spend some time with Ara and other other Satedans, to be able to get past history and work toward the future again.

John certainly hopes so. Or he’s not sure what’s going to happen.

* * *

"Welcome to Atlantis."

It’s the first of a series of bad decisions, but no one of them knows it yet.

The three Satedan refugees look around the Gate room in open wonder and awe. Of course they do; anyone would. It’s beautiful, this city, _their_ city, and John feels a surge of pride from the bottom of his stomach.

Lorne goes down to meet them. He’s holding a datapad in his hand and looks quite busy, but the relief on his face is rather obvious at seeing them return. "Colonel Carter, Colonel Sheppard, it’s good to have you back."

"It’s good to be back," Carter says. "Major Lorne, may I introduce Ara Kyrin, Rakai Jin and Tyre Kaegan of Sateda. This is Major Evan Lorne. Everything’s gone well, Major?"

"It’s been all still and quiet while you were out, Colonel," Lorne reports. "Though the marine biologists reported they’d found a new sort of underwater fungus that’s started growing on the south pier. They assure me it’s nothing toxic or harmful."

"Thank you, Major." She turns to their new guests. "If you’d please come this way, we’ll go to the infirmary. A regular check-up," she explains. "We always do it after off-world missions."

"Ah. Very clever, to keep illnesses out," says Ara, and they follow obediently.

Nothing seems to be wrong. Nothing at all.

* * *

It turns out that the three survivors haven’t waited restlessly for something to happen themselves. They used to be part of two teams before, on Sateda; once they found each other alive, they decided to form a strike team of their own. They’ve been doing small, daring ops against Wraith bases, even ships, anything they can manage, for months - years - all since the War on Sateda ended (ever since Ronon began Running).

"They’re crazy," mutters Rodney quietly, so only John can hear. "Just the three of them, against the Wraith! No backup, nothing ... God. They’re not careful at all, are they."  
But they’re desperate. They have lost their homeworld. John _understands._ Of course they’ve kept trying.

Ara tells them how hard it’s been, how they’ve struggled to survive. How each new plan has become more daring and desperate than their last, because they know that even if the Wraith one day are defeated, Sateda will never be the same. Its people are dead; the planet holds nothing but ghosts now.

In-between their thrilling, grief-filled stories, vague and descriptive all at once, the three Satedans begin to settle in. They revel in the gym, in sparring with Ronon and each other and even a couple of marines who dare. They still have guards following wherever they go, but they keep saying _It’s OK, we understand, the safety of your base comes first._ They never argue, never seem displeased. They seem to be slowly merging with the rest of the city, with everyone else.

And slowly a feeling of doubt is beginning to grow in John’s chest, and sometimes the three of them just creep him out, to be honest, and there’s _something_. He can’t put his finger on it. There’s no way he could confront Ronon about it either.

Ronon will not notice. Will refuse to notice. He has finally regained a piece of his lost past - to take it away now would be cruel.

So John stays quiet, certain that the feeling will pass, that it’s nothing to worry about.

* * *

A week later he’s sitting on the mess hall balcony, looking at the sea and eating his dinner. Keller has started fussing over his lack of weight gain, and has him take supplements now, bland pills that don’t taste too good but John takes them obediently, hoping for a result that will have the doctor calm down soon. He hasn’t spent too much time with any of the Satedans, he has to admit; merely watching sometimes from afar when they’re in the gym or the mess or once or twice in the Gate room. They’re allowed in there under guard, they get to see the daily proceedings. Carter makes a point of checking in on them regularly, to see how they’re settling in.

At the moment Rodney’s wrapping up a project with Radek in the lab, something about the city’s water cleaning filters. There have been some slight issues with them on and off since they landed on New Lantea; it probably has to do with the new change of location, and the fact that it was the first time in ten millenia that the city moved so dramatically. Ronon is of course spending time with his fellow old friends; and Teyla has gone to her people, as she does now and then. He’d declined to follow, this time. John is pretty sure she needs some private time with Kanaan - seriously, everyone have been waiting for some time now for the couple to actually, officially become that. But Athosians do things slowly, carefully, with much consideration.

Then someone moves on his left side, and a tray is put down on the otherwise empty table. "Hello, I hope I’m not unwelcome."

It’s Ara. He gestures at one of the chairs. He can’t just refuse her on basis of a vague feeling of unease. "Oh, no. Please, sit."

There’s a moment of awkward silence. John clears his throat. "How are you finding Atlantis?"

"It’s extraordinary. It’s just...extraordinary," the alpha says, smiling. "I can’t believe we’re actually here, in the city of the Ancestors. Ronon says you are a descendant of them."

"I, yeah. Sort of," John says. 'Ronon said'? What else has Ronon said, he wonders; Ronon is usually so quiet, saying only the most important things, only when it really matters. He wouldn’t reveal too much, wouldn’t spill secrets. Would he?

"Extraordinary," she says (again: like it’s a word repeated in front of a mirror, etched onto her face). Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes are distant, like she’s not really looking at him at all. "And Ronon is your Guardian now," she says, and there’s no hint of bitterness or grief or envy. No echo of Melena, of old love turned to dust.

And something’s off, John is sure, but _what?_

"Yes. Self-appointed," he says. "We don’t really have that where we’re from."

"How strange," she says. "But each to their own, I guess." She’s barely touching her food. Eating just a little at the time. Leaving most of it on the plate. Maybe she’s just not hungry. There’s something about it, thought, like it’s a part of a much bigger pattern. "Who’s the father of the child?"

The question throws him a little, because he and Rodney are open about their relationship and the Satedans have been here long enough to catch on, and then he thinks _Oh._ Because things were different on Sateda. Ara knows that, and she and Melena were mated and she also knows that Melena and Ronon were intimate; ways that to the majority of Earth is foreign, alien. He and Ronon have a bond, but he cannot label it - honestly isn’t sure if he _wants_ to - labels make things easier, but also more complicated, in a way locking things in place. John clears his throat. "Rodney."

"You cannot be due for quite some time."

What were all these questions coming from? John shifts a little, not liking her intense stare. "In about seven months, the doctors reckon."

Maybe it’s because of Ronon, and Ara and his shared history. And he’s connected to Ronon now, much like Melena was, and Ronon has drifted away from Sateda, from them, from Ara. Maybe she’s alone, so terribly alone and has no way to show it. And John feels a wave of pity for her, of sadness for all that she’s lost.

Shit, Ronon must be feeling much more torn and confused right now than he lets on. The alpha always puts on a brave face, even when he shouldn’t have to.

The woman is still looking at him. John clears his throat again, and starts standing up, gathering his tray. "Excuse me." He walks away at the fastest, most normal looking pace that he can muster.

* * *

"We have some intel," Rakai reveals less than a day later, "on this important Wraith base. They’re building this weapon against the Replicators there. We were planning to strike it when we met Ronon and his team."

It’s Ronon who’s asked Carter and John to hear them out; and they want to give them a chance. They want to prove themselves. They want to help, to belong. Yes, that’s what Ronon keeps repeating, words that have been whispered in his ears by them and how can he not listen? They are his people, his friends. He trusts them.

Rakai and Tyre explain further. The plan, the Wraith base, the layout of it. Their intel is good - _very_ good. "We’ve done this a lot, for a long time," Ara says as a way of explanation. They have the address, the exact location of the target. Their plan was to overload the reactor core and let it blow. "But you have much better, much more weapons," says Rakai.

They ask for C-4.

* * *

After a long debate, Carter agrees to try the operation on one condition: SGA-1 is to follow. And that same doubt settles in John’s gut, but he can’t put it to words and doesn’t want to ruin this for the sake of some personal mistrust or emotionally based dislike. These are Ronon’s people. Ronon trusts them; John trusts Ronon with every fiber of his being;

_Ronon trusts them._

* * *

"A hunch," Carter repeats.

"That’s as good as I can explain it," John says. "Colonel, I know it sounds strange but something’s definitely up here, and I want to know what."

According to the intel (from sources they cannot verify), the base is very loosely guarded. They could steal memory devices there from the Wraith, get information on their numbers, technology, the positions of ships; not to mention deal the Wraith a blow by leveling the base. And Tyre manages to sound very convincing - the benefits far outweigh the risks.

John needs to go with them. Carter _has_ to see that.

"They’re my team, Colonel. I can’t let them be split up."

"You think Ronon will leave?" she asks, surprised.

"I don’t know," he says honestly. He doesn’t know. He has no idea.

That’s what’s frightening.

* * *

"Wait, you’re coming?" Rodney blurts when John enters the armoury, busy securing his vest. "No, no."

"On my orders," says Carter, following on John’s heels, and Rodney’s jaw snaps shut. He glances between the two Colonels suspiciously, before quietly resuming preparing, checking his ammo, his gun.

The Satedan team are already ready and armed, waiting in the Gate room. John doesn’t miss how Ara stares in surprise at seeing him there too, or Tyre muttering quietly to Rakai, "What’s the omega doing here?" to which the other man only shrugs, disinterested. Ronon doesn’t seem to notice this exchange at all, wholly focused on the Gate as the technical Chuck starts dialling.

"Remember, we’re going to do this together, as a team," Carter says.

"No problem," answers Tyre, grinning.

* * *

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

They’re surrounded by Wraith.

Their path back to the Gate, out of the underground base - most likely a Hive ship that landed here hundreds of years ago - is cut off, there’s nowhere to go, to run. There’s a whoosh of air, the loud crack of a stunner whistling past his ear and John dives to the right, behind a pillar, while trying to call for Ronon over the radio.

They’d split up fourteen minutes ago.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Carter stumble with a cry, hit, before she loses consciousness. "Teyla!" John shouts when she too falls, three stun blasts hitting her in the back. Several more Wraith are rounding the corner - and, wait. "Rakai!"

The man is charging. But not toward the Wraith.

_Fuck._

Then John stops remembering.

* * *

He doesn’t know long he’s been unconscious but he comes to with a pounding head and sore body. It’s difficult to think. _What happened?_

"Tyre shot me," he hears Rodney say, distantly.

"You sure?" That’s Carter.

"That kind of thing is pretty hard to miss."

Slowly he tries sitting up, and then Teyla is on one side and Rodney on the other. "Easy."

"Don’t tell me," he groans, "we’re in a Wraith cell."

"Sorry, Colonel," says Carter, dryly.

He looks around. It looks like any Wraith cell on any Hive ship. A quick head count him that there are far too few prisoners present. "Ronon?"

Teyla shakes her head. "I haven’t seen him since we split up."

Then John manages to remember. "Oh crap. I think I saw Rakai. I’m pretty sure that he’s the one who stunned me."

"Your hunch was right," Carter says, standing up and inspecting the cell.

"'Hunch'?" Rodney frowns.

"Yeah. I sort...Something felt wrong. Just a general feeling, but that’s what allowed me to be on this mission to begin with. To make sure the team stayed together. I’d hoped to be wrong." Fuck, Ronon. Ronon’s going to be so angry. If his old friends were now allied with the Wraith - as prisoners, slaves, worshippers or mercenaries, _John frankly doesn’t care_ \- then that’s even more cruel than if the three had died, as Ronon first had believed. Then he could have remembers them as they were, as true Satedans, not as traitors. "How long have we been here?"

Colonel Carter consults her watch, which the Wraith haven’t taken, unlike their weapons and vests. "About half an hour, I think. We’re not overdue yet." Lorne has a team on stand-by, ready for a search and rescue in case they don’t report back, but the deadline isn’t until another two hours. "We’re on our own on this one."

"No," John says quietly, "we’ve still got Ronon out there."

He doesn’t have time to be worried about anything else. He can’t stop and start fretting about the baby, if it’s all right. Right now they’ve got to find a way out of here, and find Ronon. Get him away from here. Save him.

If the three Satedans have become Worshippers, they may not kill Ronon. No, they’ll take him to the Wraith, but Ronon will put up a fight. And they may not just feed on him, but force him to become another Worshipper.

Or a Runner.

* * *

A male Wraith, flanked by two drone warriors, walks up to the cell then. He doesn’t seem aware of the chaos that’s erupting around the base. He looks at them one by one, inspecting them and then he looks at Rodney. "That one."

John surges forward; but Teyla grasps his arm to hold him back, and he narrowly avoids being stunned a second time.

He watches on helplessly as Rodney is being led away.

* * *

Rodney _hates_ being confused.

Now he is more than ever. First Tyre had shot him; turned around and just shot him! Like _he’s_ the enemy. And now the Wraith have taken him from the cell to a small, dank room, and there’s a person hanging in suspended animation against one of the walls. Except it’s not a person. It’s a Replicator.

 _They’re building a weapon against the Replicators,_ Rakai had said.

 _Not so much,_ Rodney thinks dryly.

"You’re the one who first tampered with the base code the Replicators, willing them to attack us. You will find that command code and shut it off again," says the Wraith. "If you resist, all of your companions will die."

 _Oh, I’m so screwed._ The door closes, locking him inside with a Replicator that seems very much alive and very functional, only trapped by a force field. _I’m so screwed_.

* * *

The things is, Wraith are terrible at searching for weapons. Teyla has, as a standard by now, a knife in a holster around each ankle, and John has one around his right leg, hidden up near his knee. At least one good thing has come out of being trapped in cells like these one time too many: their aim is incredibly improved. It only takes two tries this time to get the doors open.

There’s no time to search for where their weapons and equipment may be stored; blowing this place with C4 is out of the question now. They have to find Ronon and Rodney, and then get the hell out of here.

* * *

The first hallway is empty. The second is littered with bodies - Wraith. Some are dead, others stunned; a ray gun. Some have been stabbed in the throat, chest, armpits. It’s way messier than expected, and also quieter; there appears to be no sign of life.

_Where the hell is Rodney?_

The place is a maze, but they can sort of remember the way out. Carter, armed with a stunner picked up from one of the fallen, takes point, while Teyla has their six. "They must have picked Rodney for a reason," Carter says quietly, scanning the next corridor up ahead. They could use a life signs detector about now. For a feeding they could have picked anyone; for an interrogation most likely Carter or John himself. They know that. But Rodney?

"... Replicators," John realizes. "That part about building a weapon or defence against Replicators here might be true. Rodney’s got the most knowledge and intel on them, at least as far as the Wraith are concerned."

"It’s possible," Carter says.

"There has to be a lab of some kind," Teyla agrees.

They don’t dare think of any other, much more horrible alternative.

* * *

Suddenly the guard by the door falls over, and Rodney automatically ducks for cover behind the large console. Peering out above it he sees Carter, then John and Teyla approaching, and relaxed immensely. For a brief moment, at least.

"Oh thank god. We’re in trouble," he says.

Then the force field flickers. Sam raises her stunner at the Replicator, which is bit by bit regaining more control. It must have overridden the energy field itself. And Rodney has not finished finding or shutting down that command code, not by a long shot (not that he wants to).

"Get down!"

The Replicator steps forward. Looks at them, its eyes unblinking and inhuman. Sam fires once, twice; the effect is minimal, nonexistent. Rodney’s certain they’re going to hide a horrible way, with a hand in their heads, when then the Replicator just - turns around. Ignoring them completely. And it starts walking out of the room with certain steps.

A Wraith comes running, shooting multiple blasts at the Replicator; it doesn’t stand a chance.

"Oh," Rodney breathes.

They may still survive this.

"Come on," says John. "We got to find Ronon."

* * *

From ahead there’s noise: grunts, a cry of pain. Someone’s fighting. Not with guns. Knives. John exchanges a look with Carter and nods. That has to be Ronon.

* * *

There’s even more blood here.

They find Rakai half-thrown against a wall, his throat cut. The man is still smirking, like he’s amused until his last breath. The stench of death is overwhelming. He doesn’t bear the markings of a killing by Wraith - this was done by a human hand. There’s no sign of Tyre, or Ara - or Ronon.

"What," whispers Rodney, "what the actual _hell_."

John’s pulse has risen, body singing with adrenaline. They don’t want to find Ronon like that.

"This way," Teyla says, gesturing at another corridor.

 _Ronon,_ John pleads _, be alive._

* * *

 _(We’re honourable,_ they’d said. _It’s the Satedan way._  
But Sateda is dead.)

* * *

They find Ronon - _finally_ \- and he’s locked in battle with Ara. The former is sweating, covered in splatters of blood. His eyes are dark, terrifying. There’s a single knife in his hands, nothing else, no gun, no shield. Only his fists. There are tear tracks running down his cheeks. The cold fury is so basic, so simple and clean, in a way. he’s fighting unlike John or any of the others have ever seen him fight.

Ara’s face is drawn and she’s dancing from the blows, saying, pleading, shouting: "The Wraith can offer so much _more,_ Ronon! There was no other choice!"

Her face is covered in blood, unrecognizable.

(Her voice is still very clear in John’s memory. The way she’s talked about Ronon, about Sateda. The smile when she’d asked who the father of his child was. She might have been a proud Satedan once, as they painted the stories: proud and strong and honourable warriors, loyal to the last. She might have been the woman whom Ronon once trusted, who loved Melena, but now she is just a ghost.

 _They had let themselves be found,_ he realizes sharply. The Wraith had planted them there on that planet, counting on a happy reunion sooner or later. Counting on the Lanteans taking them in, taking them to Atlantis so that they could reveal the new location of the Lost City and all their secrets.

Everything was a lie.)

Ronon doesn’t answer her.

John feels the surge of moment behind him as the others raise their stunners, try to interfere -

"Wait," he hisses. This is Ronon’s fight. They won’t let him die, but this is Ronon’s fight, and if they shoot Ara then the Satedan’s wrath will be even worse. Carter seems to understand, and gestures for Teyla and Rodney to stop, to step back.

They move fast. Neither slow down or care that they’re bleeding and broken. There’s a cut, John glimpses, on Ronon’s arm, sharp and fresh. Another on his thigh. But Ara is littered with them, as if she couldn’t care less. Like she thinks she’s invincible. Like she thinks the Wraith will come and heal her again.

Then suddenly Ronon’s knife is pointing at Ara’s chest, and Ara’s at Ronon’s, they’re locked, frozen. No one moves or breathes, there’s nothing but the two of them and the hatred, the grief in Ronon’s tears and the falseness of Ara’s smile.

It’s over a few seconds later.

* * *

No one knows where Tyre has gone. Run away. Escaped. Been killed and thrown into a dark corner to be forgotten.

Ronon doesn’t speak. No one asks any questions. The Satedan’s hands are red with blood, and something inside of him has broken, torn him apart, something beyond the science of medicine to heal.

They stumble toward the Stargate, scattered and silent. Ronon doesn’t say a word. He won’t, John thinks, not for a long time. The pain is going to be sharp and fresh for months, and nothing can smooth that out, remove it. It’s going to make a deep scar.

This was never meant to happen.


	4. Chapter 4

The following days, Ronon remains quiet; and he is like that usually, a lot of people think. Most people don’t know that before the Wraith destroyed Sateda and forced him to run, Ronon was dreaming to be a poet. But now he is utterly silent, even on those times when he shouldn’t be. He doesn’t smirk when sparring in the gym, or join in the banter at the table in the mess hall. He sits there like a ghost.

It’ll take a long time to move on - he won’t forget, but eventually he’ll move on. John does what he can but he isn’t certain what Ronon really wants - so mostly, John acts like normal, tries to, and lends a hand and a shoulder. And eventually Ronon murmurs that he doesn’t want change; he doesn’t want people to move around him differently because of his recent loss.

Status quo is difficult to achieve when their team isn’t really their team anymore, not going on missions together, but Lorne slits into place pretty well. SGA-1 is pretty unique, with having only one military officer on it, and only two Earthlings in total. No other teams consist of aliens. On duty, John watches them go; he’s starting to find a routine, now, of desk duties, and seeing to Marie, and overseeing marines in the gym and the shooting range. During evenings sometimes, when Rodney’s back home and John pulls him out of the labs, they race cars in the lower levels. He arranges some on-the-ground Jumper piloting 101s for the newest people on base (they still don’t allow him to actually _fly,_ yet) - since they still have basically no real fighter pilots in Atlantis, still, save few new additions like Lorne - and not all pilots have the gene necessary to control the Jumpers. Carter has promised to let him have a spin around the planet sooner or later, though. John seriously cannot wait.

* * *

A temporarily scattered SGA-1, as accompanied by Dr Keller, returns from M5V-801 on a sunny afternoon. The dial-in sequence starts when John is in Carter’s office, handing over a datapad with the latest personnel reviews, and then a disgruntled Rodney, alongside Keller, is hurrying up the stairs toward them. _Oh, this is going to be fun,_ John thinks, watching them and he pulls out a red lollipop from one of his trouser pockets (he’s starting keeping sweets there in case of sudden emergencies). Carter sends him a raised eyebrow at that, and John shrugs. "Hey, at least it’s not anything weird I’m craving."

"Thankfully," Carter comments with a smile. "We don’t exactly have Wal-Mart around the corner."

"Caldwell would love to do an extra supply run for my sake, I’m sure, Colonel."

Two arguing voices are drifting toward them. "... so again, my problem triumphs yours!"

"Hey, kids. How’d the trip go?" John greets, slouching in one of the office’s white chairs.

The alpha immediately crosses his arms over his chest and turns to Carter with a sour look on his face. "They’re impossible, those peasants on that planet," he says. "We need to relocate them a few miles from their current settlement because right now, it’s standing atop this old abandoned mine shaft -"

"And they all have a lung problem, too," Keller cuts in, glaring at Rodney. John winces a little on his behalf. Jeez, how long have they been having this discussion?

"They’re experiencing frequent tremors," Rodney continues loudly, "several times a day and it’s getting worse. They’re living on unstable ground and refusing to move or believe us. Apparently the Genii went there twenty years ago and took over, employing them all as miners. Once they’d emptied the reserves of whateveritwas, they just packed up and left. Now the natives think we’re going to do the same and take advantage of them or their planet. They won’t listen when we tell them that if they stay on that site much longer they’re going to die." With a sigh, Rodney turns to Carter. "We need you to talk to them, convince them we’re no the bad guys and only trying to help them and yadda-yadda."

"Please, Sam," adds Keller. "We _really_ need your help on this one."

Teyla isn’t available; she’s spending time on Athos with her mate, and Ronon isn’t much of a diplomat. At all. In fact his presence might have worsened things, judging by the sound of Keller and Rodney’s tale.

"All right," Carter agrees, and there’s a collective sigh of relief. "John, you’re in charge while we’re gone. Rodney, Jennifer, I want you both ready to go in forty minutes."

"What - but -" Rodney starts.

But the omega smiles and nods. "You got it, Colonel." And John smirks at Rodney, who’s bubble just cracked and now the alpha is half-wheezing protests at having to go back to that miserable planet. "Have fun."

"I hate you," Rodney mutters but without heart behind it. He’d be pouting, John is sure, if not for the fact that Keller and Carter are still in the room, the two of them visibly struggling not to grin at this display.

* * *

John sees them off. It’ll be a quick mission. Carter will have it sorted. She’s good at that kind of thing; clever and a Stargate veteran, hopefully the natives will listen to her, and then they can start sending humanitarian aid and help with the relocation, and within a week or so everything will have gone back to normal and Rodney will have forgotten about the incident completely.

But that doesn’t happen.

* * *

There’s a long radio silence. No one worries, at first. Not until they hit the overdue time and there no word, no incoming wormhole; John calls Lorne to the control room. The Major has just left the gym to hit the showers, and steps into the office with a frown etched on his face and a towel across his shoulders, hair slightly disheveled. "What’s up, Colonel?"

"Carter’s team is overdue," he says. "It might just be the negotiations taking longer than they’d thought, but instinct’s telling me they’re in trouble."

The Major nods. "Give me ten minutes to assemble my team."

* * *

Five hours earlier, Rodney has just fallen into a crevice into the earth, several foot deep, and landed in an abandoned mining facility left behind by the Genii. And Keller and Carter get stuck with him not half a minute later.

They get to their feet slowly, with aching and slightly trembling limbs. They were lucky, they know, not to have broken anything in that fall. Very lucky.

"Doesn’t look like any of us are bleeding," Sam murmurs, glancing around. The only source of light they have is the thin rays of daylight pushing through the hole in the dirt they’d fallen through. Through the dimness they can spot a structure: four walls of concrete and various metal alloys. There are lamps no longer functioning, old-fashioned data-ports, various fixtures in the walls. It’s all screaming Genii. It all looks ancient, and pretty unsafe too.

"At least externally," Rodney mutters with a groan.

"Where are we?" Keller asks. This is only her fifth or so time off-world; this is all new to her senses, and she can’t recognize signs as well as Carter or McKay.

"The Genii mining facility, probably. I’m particularly not fond of the ceiling work." God, his back’s hurting. Like a lot. Should it be hurting like that? _Fuck_. They went to Carter to get help on this and maybe a bit of free time but no, they’re back on this miserable planet and more: stuck. Stuck underground. This so not his day.

"If this is part of a larger facility ..."

"... then there should be another way out, yeah," Sam agrees with a nod.

There are two doors, facing opposite directions. Rodney, having regained his ability to move, approaches one to the left, a rusty red covered with at least two decades of dust. Carter, instead goes for the other.

"Little help here."

"What about this one?"

"Red means bad," she says.

"Oh. Right."

* * *

Turns out said door is connected to some kind of electronic mechanism that needs a code to function. A mechanism that’s very dead and inaccessible. The door seems far too heavy to move manually, so the three of them starting to push at that is out of the question.

They struggle for minutes with the red door. And once it finally, finally gives, they are greeted with the sight of a long, dark empty shaft; and what once had been a room or corridor, now caved in and fallen far out of sight. Also, they realize, this whole structure is built on a set of thin, wiry-looking poles that appear far too fragile for comfort. Odds are, of course, that the room they’re in is exactly the same and of the same high risk of collapsing whenever the next tremor might hit. Which is likely sooner rather than later, given how many the natives report experiencing every day.

They shut the door heavily, like a sigh.

"OK, look, we’ve been in the field for roughly half an hour," Sam says, glancing at her watch. "We got another five before we need to check in. So, the safest thing for us to do is just to sit tight - when we don’t check in they’ll send a team."

Rodney isn’t listening. Sit tight? That never solves any problem he’s experienced. And he’s experienced _a lot_ of problems in his lifetime. No, he can’t just sit and wait for rescue to come. Five hours - how many tremors mightn’t hit in that time? He doesn’t want to die on a planet without even a proper name, only a numeric designation, because of some stupid Genii death-trap.

He starts fiddling with the panel next to the other door. If he could get it working, if he could crack the code ... maybe they could get out. It could lead to a corridor, a passage. _Something._

"Our radio should work down here," Carter finishes, a question.

"Yeah, it should," Rodney says distractedly.

"OK, so, we sit and wait," the Colonel says and tries to smile to a very worried Jennifer. The doctor doesn’t look comforted by this, but shrugs, sinks down to sit on a crate.

Waiting.

* * *

Barely three minutes pass before a tremor strikes. It’s rapid, over swift but it could just have well lasted half an eternity. They press themselves against the walls anxiously, feeling the air tremble and it takes forever until it settles again. Dirt stirs and shifts, the earth groaning; metal shrieking like low moans of pain.

An exhale.

"If this room is built on stilts like that other one we saw ..." Jennifer murmurs.

"I’d say that’s very likely, yeah," Rodney nods shakily.

"But, this one’s more stable, right? I mean," the MD says, "we’re still standing."

"Yeah, but with the extra weight we added by falling in here, we’ve just made it more unstable," Carter says. "With the three of us and this dirt we’ve just added, what, three, four hundred pounds?"

Rodney glances down. "Let’s say five hundred."

"Right. And this region experiences how many tremors a day?"

"Four times at least," Rodney answers Sam’s question.

No one’s saying it but they’re all thinking it: We’re so fucking screwed.

* * *

They got to find a way out of there. The most obvious answer is resting right by their feet.

The stacking of crates takes awhile, of course, and is complicated by the fact they don’t have the right equipment to do this, the time pressure is on them, the room could collapse at any moment. And they have no idea if the twenty-year-old wooden crates will actually be strong enough to support their weight, or the weight of a single one of them.

One has to start climbing, eventually, so that they may reach high enough to feel the sun on their face. It’s Sam, in the end, who is the unlucky one. Jennifer is far too afraid of heights, she insists and Rodney can’t blame her. For once he’s really glad he’s not an option in the matter.

They stop counting the minutes as they work, and no one comments on thirst or hunger or the sweat trickling down their necks, their backs, uncomfortable next to the TAC vests. Rodney’s dumped his by now, along with the P-90. They don’t help at all here.

And they’re so close, so close -

The whole structure groans. It takes half a second: the break appears, on the very bottom crate, it shifts, splits - the rest follows.

* * *

In the dust, Carter’s lying on the ground awkwardly sprawled forward. A pained moan echoes from her mouth, and they get to her side pale and hurried. "Sam!"

"Oh my god," Jennifer says, kneeling next to her, slipping into doctor mode right away. God, she wishes she had her kit. "Are you OK?"

"Uh, that was fun," the Colonel mutters. Somehow, she gets on her feet. Her side is bruised, maybe a rib broken, but it’s not acute.

Another tremor threatens the room. They can hear the wiring move.

"We need to figure out another plan."

* * *

"Hello, hello..."

"What have you got?"

"Grappling hook!" With a smirk he shows them his prize. "Or at least something we could use as a grappling hook."

They approach. "Great! Now all we need is some rope," Jennifer says.

Rodney looks upward. "Wait just a sec. The ceiling is like, what, twenty feet?"

"Twenty-five?" suggest Carter.

"So, twenty-five feet." He begins rattling off the items of clothes they need to use that should be enough and be able to support their weight, but Sam has a better idea. Or resource.

"Found this in a cupboard," she says, putting a pile of rope - comfortingly sturdy-looking - onto the crate before them: their tiny assembly, hook and rope. Their chance of getting out of here, they hope.

"Ah," says Rodney sheepishly.

* * *

"This rope is too thin. We need to tie knots to be able to climb it," Sam says, illustrating with her hands.

Oh great. Rodney didn’t plan his day to turn out like this at all.

* * *

As they get to work, reluctantly or not, the silence is bound to be broken soon. It is, too. And Rodney realizes how little he’s actually spoken with either woman in his spare time - he usually spends that in the labs, or with John and Marie, or just doing things of more importance than sitting around sharing stories and friendships. Besides, he knows he got off the wrong foot with Carter those years ago, back the SGC when he was called in to help save Teal’c who was trapped between Stargates. And Keller, well, he knows even less about her. Only that she’s a good medical doctor - got to be, for her job in Atlantis. And John says she’s a good medic, so there’s that too.

"Wanna play twenty questions?" Jennifer asks. "I’ll let you go first. Animal, vegetable or mineral?"

Rodney snorts dryly, while Carter grimaces a bit. "I’m good, thanks," she says.

Nevertheless, Keller goes on, "Here’s a better one. Brad Pitt or George Clooney?" When Sam actually does pause to consider, she adds, "If you had to choose."

"Oh, c’mon," Rodney mutters on his breath, but is ignored.

"Hm, Clooney, I guess."

Keller nods. "Pitt all the way. OK, you go. C’mon, it’s easy, only two people I would know."

"Uhmm. OK. Euhm, Brian Greene or Neil deGrasse Tyson?"

Keller just stares at her blankly.

"Tyson all the way."

"I know that guy Tyson!" Rodney cuts in angrily. "He once stole an idea from me! Did I tell you that story?"

Sam smiles a bit, a little tiredly, a sigh that is still kind of fond. "Yeah, you did, McKay."

Oh. Right. Must’ve been that post-mission dinner in the mess after M33-9F1, after settling that trade agreement, and Sam had joined them briefly at the table and somehow they’d gotten into a vivid discussion about quantum physics and early discoveries, publications never written, and so on and so forth. Rodney remember that actually, how John had smiled so fondly, and then hinted at how he’d solved that equation when stuck on P3X-GH4. Sam had gotten curious, since that had happened before her time in Atlantis - that bit had been left out of the official reports. Rodney still hasn’t quite forgiven him for that. Solving a Millennium equation and then giving some native all the notes - throwing away the chance of a fortune, of fame! (Even if John insists he could write it down again if he wanted do. Apparently he hasn’t wanted to, yet.)

"We’re playing who ’would you rather?’," Jennifer says, turning to him. "Want to join us?"

"Well that’s just moronic," he counters, and the MD smirks, shares a look with Sam, a glimmer to her eye.

"Guess you’re lucky being with Colonel Sheppard."

He’s not sure if he should blush or bristle. In the end he does he latter, because it’s easier to cover up.

Sam doesn’t help the least, the alpha saying, "He’s really quite handsome, isn’t he? And he’s clever; I heard that he passed the Mensa test. Did he?"

"Yes," Rodney grumbles, honestly not able to find any kind of amusement from this conversation whatsoever, even though they’re trying to pass the time without thinking about dying. "Yes, John’s - clever." Understatement. Not that Sam needs to know the extent of John’s cleverness, Rodney decides, in a quiet fit of passionate selfishness.

"Yeah," Jennifer fills in smiling, "and he’s got a very nice -"

"There’s a _line_ ," mutters Rodney.

"We’re just teasing, Rodney," says Keller gently. "You’re honestly very lucky. I mean, with Sheppard."

"Shut up."

"We’re just talking."

"No, I mean I hear something."

They pause, holding their breaths almost. And they hear it too. Voices, steadily growing closer. The voices of children.

* * *

Children who are moronic, and selfish, and stupid -

"Rodney," says Sam, "they’re just kids."

"Who wouldn’t get help for us! I’m allowed to be vindictive here!"

The Colonel just looks at her watch. "Four hours and fifteen minutes." It sounds like half an age.

* * *

They get back to tying rope, somehow. Even after Rodney has shouted for a bit, and Sam has shouted at him, and Keller has managed to silence them both; and it turns out the rope idea was a failure, after all. Time is running out and the ground below is growing ever more unstable, and then Keller, of all people, comes up with an idea.

* * *

"... my leg."

It’s broken. Sam’s conscious (she’s frighteningly strong, actually, Rodney thinks, in mind and body like that. He’s have passed out right away in her stead) and doesn’t seem to have a concussion or other head injury, but her face is pale, eyes a little bleary and they don’t have any painkillers to give her. Thankfully, Keller announces, the break is clean: one single fracture. But it’s still painful and now they don’t have one but two problems: they’re still stuck in an unsafe room with the ground unstable.

And now Sam can’t walk.

 _We’re so screwed,_ Rodney thinks, glaring upward as if salvation could appear: _we are so, so screwed._

* * *

Then ground is shaking and the room tilts, continuing tilting and Rodney is holding onto the rope barely breathing, hands burning -

"Wait! I can see light - there’s a way out! Rodney, you have to lower the rope!"

He can barely stand where he is, now he has to shift the rope and move? Oh, god. This kind of fieldwork is for marines, not astrophysicists. They came here to settle an agreement with the natives, not fall into deadly traps -

"Rodney," Sam urges him, "lower the rope."

* * *

Afterward, Rodney can’t quite remember how he managed it. He can only remember the burning pain and the sweat coiling down his chest and neck and back and the endless rant of curses in his mind. Ronon would be proud, he dares to think. Then, finally, finally, he’s lying down on stable ground and feels foreign sunlight on his face and he can breathe.

Beside him, Sam is supporting herself against a rock, sitting up, breath staggering. "Good work, Rodney," she says.

"Thanks," he croaks, weakly. "I...I’d like to take the rest of the week off."

Carter manages to laugh, the chuckle faltering and becoming a groan of pain half-way. "That makes two of us."

Keller is the one to actually be able to move, and she is the one who walks the way back to the Stargate to dial Atlantis for help. And she is the one to be greeted by the sight of Lorne and his team stepping through the event horizon, surprised at seeing the doctor standing there, dusty and dirty and without any gear.

* * *

Rodney has never been so relieved to be back in Atlantis. Or, if he has, at this moment everything in the past is overridden by a surge of relief. Relief which mixes into something else when they enter the Gate room, and there’s John, hurrying down the bright stairs to meet them - wondering what the hell happened. The omega looks between Rodney’s haggard face and his quickly bandaged hands, to Sam on a stretcher with a clearly broken leg and possibly other injuries, to Keller, relatively unharmed but with soil in her hair.

As he bites back groans of pain and failing miserably in the infirmary, one of the nurses gently treating to his burned hands, John is right there with him. They talk idly, not about the mission but about anything else, and it’s at least somewhat of a distraction. He’s already requested a few days off. That might ground SGA-1 for a while, but Teyla might take the opportunity to visit her people. Rodney has no illusions that Ronon would go anywhere: the Satedan is very persistent, and offers a shadow which is actually very comforting. He goes where John goes, and Rodney has moved past any sense of suspicion, or jealousy, or any other such emotions. Instead he’s glad; Ronon’s part of the team, they look after each other. It’s a sort of thing not a lot of people can understand. A thing Rodney didn’t understand three or four years ago.

He looks down at his white-wrapped hands forlornly. This means at least a week, probably longer, without the ability to properly work a computer, which means no lab-work, which means -

John lays a hand on his elbow, comfortingly, before the thought can finish. "Hey, you OK?"

"Not really. Probably," Rodney says, and catches the omega’s eye. He holds up the offending appendages in question, helpless in ways he isn’t used to and certainly doesn’t like.

"Without hands I can’t work."

"We’re taking awhile off. No labwork," John reminds him, but not ungently. And when the nurse has their back turned, leaving to take care of someone else, John murmurs just for him to hear, warm breath ghosting the shell of his ear and causing him to shiver: "You still got your _very hot_ mouth ..."

(Which gives Rodney all kinds of good ideas.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(tw: this chapter contains (brief) torture, threats about rape/non-con and implications of sexual violence, and also the threatening of a child; there is no actual harm of the child but it can still be upsetting.)_

At twelve weeks, he’s no longer allowed by Carter to go off-world other than those that are strict trading missions with allies, to safe planets, and not without Ronon, Teyla or a bunch of marines escorting him. John had rolled his eyes at it all, but after what happened last time - the memory of the Sanctuary a bleak reminder he has no desire to ever repeat - he understands everyone’s concerns and manages to obey. Besides, he knows the last bit is mostly because his team doesn’t seek trouble, really. It just so often happens upon them, willingly or not.

Balkan is a lively community that they’ve been in contact with for years; it is really the trading hub of Pegasus, and there’s a lot of cultural exchange going on here. It’s a peaceful, colourful place and really the perfect first view of other parts of the galaxy for his daughter to see; so he brings her along as he decides to take a jumper there. Last time they went here they found some really good beans that were almost like coffee; the science department would appreciate it if he took some back, he figures. And maybe he could find some nice native baby things, because his daughter and future child are children of Pegasus more than of Earth, and he wants them to learn that.

Of course, Ronon won’t let him go alone, and Carter gives him the go-ahead with the large Satedan at his back (he pretty much counts as a whole SG-team). Rodney’s busy with a project for the day but had promised to come next time (but John knows he just hasn’t got the same fondness of strolling around alien markets that the omega does. Well, unless there are Ancient artifacts to be found and John is always on the look-out for those). Teyla has three days off, and has already been to New Athos for the past two.

It’s his daughter’s fourth trip through the Stargate. It doesn’t seem to frighten her, thankfully. Settled in Ronon’s lap in the co-pilot seat she stares expectantly through the windshield as they rush through the wormhole and exit in a forested glade under a warm summer sun. The gate here is placed a few miles from the settlement for safety’s sake; it gives the inhabitants some time to escape into a nearby cave system in case the Wraith come with their darts (and that sadly happens far too often now). Thus they’ve taken the Jumper.

It’s a decision they’ll come to regret a few hours later.

* * *

The stroll through the market had been really nice, a relaxing change of pace from the usual chaos.

After John decides that, while they’re at it with a jumper and all, why not show Marie a look of the planet from above? Her first proper look at a planet from orbit. Ronon doesn’t protest, in fact encourages the idea, so twenty minutes later they’re in low orbit around the planet. Marie is thoroughly enjoying herself - at least for five minutes, then her interest wanes, and she starts getting a little cranky. Some sweets newly bought from the market cheers her up while John steers the craft down into the atmosphere again, while Ronon dials Atlantis. As soon as the wormhole is established Rodney’s voice can be heard, crisp and sharp, across the radio.

_"Are you finally coming home now?"_

"Yes, Rodney," says John patiently. "We’ve only been gone a couple of hours. Before you ask, no, we didn’t find any Ancient tech. Some other stuff, though. We’re descending from orbit now, we’ll be at the Gate soon."

_"Orbit? No, wait, I won’t ask."_

John smirks. "I’ll tell you all about it later. It’s time Marie got some dinner and -"

The jumper jolts. For a moment the HUD flickers, and John exchanges a troubled look with Ronon. "What was that?"

It felt almost like ... gun fire. The sensors begin blaring in alarm - something approaches, fast, _suddenly_. A ship has just left hyperspace, the window forming and closing right outside the planet’s atmosphere and without warning they have struck. Wraith?

Oh, crap.

_"What was what? What’s wrong? John?!"_

"Someone just shot at us. Hang on -"

_"John? John, Ronon, come in. Do you read?"_

"Rodney? We’re under fire. Do you copy?" There’s no response. John turns to Ronon. "Someone’s jamming our transmissions."

Then it happens again. And John is picking up something on the HUD, something nearing them, something _big_ \- only a glimpse, then the screen goes dark and the light go out. An energy blast. Some kind of weapons fire, all right. Marie notices that, of course, the jumper trembling and proximity alerts going abruptly silent and she whimpers in distress, asking what’s happening, tugging at Ronon’s hair. John can’t answer and a cold feeling of fear, of panic, settles in his gut. He tries calling Rodney over the radio, but all he receives is static.

"Sheppard," says Ronon quietly and something - a shadow - falls over the jumper.

It has to be a ship. A big one too; at least the size of Daedalus. But - that’s too small to be a Wraith hive. A scout ship? Whatever it is, it’s right on top of them., and the jumper has lost all primaries, all secondaries. Life-support is off; as of right now, they’re shallow breathing.

"Shit. I think we’re in trouble."

* * *

Half a minute later they’re stuck in a cargo hold on an unfamiliar ship that’s just launched into hyperspace. The jumper has nineteen minutes of oxygen left; it’s still not responding to any commands. They’re not getting out of this one so easily. And even if they did somehow get the jumper to function, where would they go? John doesn’t think trying to move through a hyperspace field is a very good idea, and they have no idea where the ship is headed.

There has to be another solution.

Ronon has transferred Marie to John’s arms, and the girl is thankfully rather calm, not understanding the danger they could be in. The Satedan has drawn his gun. John wishes he’d brought his P-90, not just his sidearm. No; first of all he wishes that Marie wasn’t here, that she was safe on Atlantis, that she couldn’t soon be trapped in a crossfire.

Someone is pounding on the back hatch of the jumper with a heavy hand. At the same time several people surround the small vessel and John can spot several of them through the windshield; at least three, probably more, all armed with some kind of projectile weapons. Very advanced weapons - they’re on a spaceship, after all. Making a split-second decision, he quickly closes the bulk head doors between the piloting and back end compartments with the manual mechanism by the back. At least it’ll offer some protection if these strangers open up fire and manage to destroy the windshield.

"Open up!" demands a voice from outside, muffled but determined. "Open up now, or we _will_ fire!"

Ronon look at him, and John considers for a moment before nodding. "We can’t risk a firefight," he decides, cradling Marie to his chest.

Nodding, the Satedan quickly pushes the button before resuming position, gun aimed in the general direction of their captors so that he’s ready to fire as soon as the hatch has lowered. Just in case. As metal heavily scrapes against metal, they come face to face with four gun nozzles, and four rather angry faces. One of them, maybe the leader, is a beta with thinning brown hair and a smirk-smeared face. He looks between Ronon and John and the child in his arms in shock. Like this wasn’t what they’d expected or had planned to hijack.

"Lower your weapons."

"How about you lower your weapons and let us be on our way?" John suggests.

The only reply they get is one of them pulling the trigger. A bolt of red hits Ronon square in the chest. He stumbles with a grunt, and another time is shot, causing him to crumble. The loud noise from the energy weapon causes Marie to cry out in distress. Realizing there’s no better option, John slowly lays down his own nine-mill on the floor and slides it toward their captors, in clear gesture of surrender.

The weapon is picked up and examined by one of the underlings - maybe they’ve never seen a weapon that shoots bullets before, since their own guns are energy-based. John half-hopes that the guy will accidentally let the safety off and shoot himself in the foot. Would serve him right.

"You two," orders one of them and gestures at Ronon, who’s unconscious bit appears to be breathing. He’d better be breathing, or someone’s going to be seriously hurt, John is going to make certain. "Take him to deck four, cell three-eight. Make sure to cuff him." Two of them - all clad in bland, brown uniforms - get to work. "And you," continues the man, still pointing his gun at John, "you’re coming with us. _Quietly_."

He doesn’t see how he has any other choice.

* * *

He’s taken to a cell. Fucking unoriginal is what it is. And he’s been in tighter spots, sure. But never with Marie involved. He can’t risk her safety, and it’s already being risked by just being here. Held hostage - for what? technology? information? or just some strange fluke of fate? They- whoever _they_ are - could have seen the Jumper and decided that they wanted the ship, and he and Ronon are just byproducts of that claim. John racks his brain, but can’t come up with anything about these people - he has no idea who they may be, where they’re form, what their allegiances are. The Genii can’t possibly have gotten this far ahead technologically in the brief time since last they had contact with Ladon Radim - no, these are strangers.

At least he’s not being tortured or beaten. Yet. And they’ve not taken his daughter from him. Maybe they’re not without mercy, just desperate.

But they’ve separated him and Ronon, and for obvious reasons; so they can’t try to escape together, can’t communicate or help each other. He may know the deck and cell number to which Ronon was taken, but he has no idea where is himself in relation to that.

Marie is starting to get fussy and hungry now. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, and how could she? She’s still so young. So small. All she knows is that they’re somewhere not home, not safe, and he is her only source of comfort.

They’d already stretched it by being on Balkan for so long; she’s always had a steady schedule in terms of food and sleep. _This is such bad fucking timing,_ John thinks, cursing whoever is behind this. She’s started clawing at his chest with her fists. So, checking the room for cameras (there doesn’t appear to be any, but then this is an alien cell on an alien ship of alien technology), John unbuttons his shirt and lets her latch on while murmuring gently to her, echoes of lullabies that always put her to sleep. At least that’s give her comfort, keep her calm. He can’t promise _We’ll be home soon_ , but does anyway in a whisper.

Then he settles to wait.

* * *

The cell has no markings, and no windows except for a single tiny one in the door, made for the guard to peer through. No one does at the moment, though. The walls are tight around him and covered in a sheer layer of rust. There’s a small ventilation shaft in the ceiling, too small for a person (at least of his size) to creep through or hide in. It’s like any cell; cramped, offering no means of escape. There are of course only artificial lights so judging the passing time is difficult, but he’s got a well-tuned inner clock that’s survived amazingly well considering the Gate lag.

Balkan’s orbit around its twin suns and the planet’s own spin and axis isn’t that different from that of New Lantea, which means there are about the same amount of hours during a day on both planets. When they’d gone through the Gate in Atlantis that morning, they’d come out on the other side within just a difference of an hour at most. They hadn’t stayed more than one and a half hour, top, and the approach back to the Gate had taken far too much time - they should have been back well over an hour ago; Rodney will have noticed right away. Not to mention how they lost radio transmissions.

Rodney must’ve figured out that something’s happened now, and had Carter send a jumper to investigate. But they’re not going to find anything; no crash site or other sign of an accident like that, nor will they find them anywhere on Balkan - but Rodney and Carter are clever. They should comprehend soon enough that a third party has been involved. Maybe they can find a way to track a hyperspace window ...

God, Rodney. Rodney’s going to panic. It was just meant to be a nice outing without dangers, and now they’re prisoners aboard a spaceship.

 _Hang on,_ John thinks. _I’ll think of something. You’ll think of something..._

* * *

There’s the sound of footsteps outside the thick doors then, and there’s a shadow shifting that John can spot through the tiny circular window. The guard is moving aside for someone else. A key turns in a lock, large and rusty; a bolt is pulled aside. The door creaks loudly on its hinges as it’s opened, as if it’s very old and not well-oiled. Yes, there’s something old, something _worn_ about the whole ship. Like it’s been travelling for lightyears and lightyears and is running out of steam.

_It’d better not fucking fall apart while we’re on it._

A man enters the cell. The same brown-haired one as before, the one with quite meaty hands and a clear sign of upcoming baldness. The gun is strapped to his waist now. John scans his brown uniform for any text, lettering, insignia but there’s none that he recognizes. Just who are these people?

Well, if they want information on Atlantis or other intel, they’re going to be out of luck.

"Hi there," says John, falsely cheerful and the man frowns, apparently not appreciating that attitude at all. "Nice, this place. Could do with a paint-job, though."

There’s no answer, only the door closing behind him. And John instinctively draws Marie closer; she’s dozing a little now, fed and not knowing about how close to danger they are.

"Here’s what’s going to happen," the guy says, "I’m asking the questions, and you’re going to answer. Where did you get your ship?"

The Jumper?

"I found it," John says, and it’s not a lie. They found it, as they found the city. It’s not a lie, but of course the man doesn’t buy it; John never excepted him to either. His jailor’s frown just deepens and he stalks forward, and a split second later John’s head is ringing from the sharpness of the sudden blow.

There’s the metallic tang of blood on his tongue - he’s pretty sure his lip was just split.

"I’m telling the truth," he says, refusing to act cowed. "We found it."

"We?"

"My people." Thankfully, the man doesn’t demand him to elaborate further on that.

"Where did you find it?"

"On a planet."

The guy raises his hand again to strike, and John steels himself. He’s been through much worse before; this interrogation method seems surprisingly low-tech for people who travel in a spaceship. But the blow never lands. Instead, the man takes one step back and knocks on the door, calling for a guard. It’s another nondescript man in uniform, armed, a typically intimidating tall frame with an abundance of muscles. Not long after a second guard appears, not too different from the first.

And then the man says, "Take the child."

The guard obeys, not questioning or talking or showing any kind of remorse whatsoever. His grip isn’t gentle, and Marie cries out in confusion and panic at being lifted by a stranger and taken away from her parent.

_"No!"_

John surges forward as his daughter is ripped from his arms, but the second guard is upon him, holding him back with sweaty fists. But John isn’t going to back down without a fight. They’re not taking her from him!

He struggles violently, cursing in the guard’s grip, but the man holds fast. It’s going to cause bruises later, the shadows of hands on his wrists and torso, but John can’t feel any pain. "Let her go!"

The first guy remains oddly calm. As if he’s done this before, or planned all the details. There’s no remorse in his eyes, only a distant coldness. "Now, you’re going to answer my question. Where did you find your ship?"

John’s breath is harsh and fast in this throat. It’s difficult to breathe; it’s like someone’s compressing his chest slowly, and his blood is cold with anger, with fear for his child, with the desire to just rip these men’s heads off in animalistic rage.

When an answer isn’t forthcoming, the guy smirks and says, "You don’t want us to hurt the child, do you?"

"I can give you the Stargate address," John wheezes out. And he can. Old Lantea is a cold address, dead now that they took the Gate with them to their new homeworld; these people can try dialling it as much as they want.

"What are the coordinates? Are there more ships there?"

The guard’s grip tightens, thick arms wrapped around the omega’s own, holding him back. "No. I don’t know the coordinates, just the address." It’s the truth. Surely the man will see that he’s telling the _truth?_

"So you found just one small ship?"

"Yes," but then a fist lands in his face again. Marie starts screaming in the background, but the guards seem unperturbed. It’s not the first time a prisoner has been tortured for answers.

"I ask again: are there are any more ships?"

"Yes! Yes, there were other ships but we only took the one. I don’t know what happened to the other ships. They could still be there ... I have the address."

He’s not going to tell them about Atlantis, he’ll never betray his home. But hearing his daughter crying is making him so fucking angry and terrified and cold shivers wreck through his whole body. He twists, trying to get free, somehow managing to elbow the guard in the gut. For a moment the grip is loosened, but the first man stalks forward and grabs him by the hair.

"Stop struggling, or we’ll hurt the child."

Breathing hard and quick, heartbeat racing, John stills.

"Good." The man nods at the guard, who has regained his breath and his grip on the omega. "Tie his hands."

A pair of cuffs are procured from the guard’s belt and John doesn’t struggle as they’re put around his wrists far too tightly, arms secured behind his back. This way he can’t fight properly, and this way he can’t hold his daughter, which means they’re not giving her back. A cold lump of dread is forming in his belly. Then the guard pushes him down on his knees onto the cold, grated floor.

"The big man we took with you isn’t talking. Who are you, and where are you from?"

So they’re more interested in the jumper, in Ancient technology, in spaceships, than in whoever may be owning said technology. The ships are more important. That tells John something. First off, these people are not likely going to become their allies.

"We’re peaceful explorers," he says. Insists. Echoes.

"Who are you?" the man asks again, voice indifferent.

"We’re from a planet called Earth." There’s no chance they could recognize the name or place. In fact John wouldn't be surprised to find other planets out there, in Pegasus or the Milky Way, which its inhabitants call 'earth' or 'the soil' or something else like that. It could be any planet, anywhere. But the man doesn’t seem much more interested in that, thankfully.

"What’s the name of the alpha you’re with?"

Of course. Ronon’s alpha, so they could think Ronon is in charge, that John is a companion, a mate or copilot. That’s the way most societies work. Maybe that’s why they’re doing it like this: John cannot imagine that Ronon has answered to any threats, revealed anything, so they’ve instead turned to him, imagining him to be the weak link. He doesn’t want to think about what they could have done or said to Ronon - if he’s even alive -

"Ronon," John bites out. They could have heard that, if they were monitoring as well as jamming transmissions earlier.

"Which one of you were piloting the ship?"

He hesitates for a second too long. His other cheek is hit this time. His face is going to be one big bruise if this goes on.

"I was. I’m the pilot."

The man nods at the guard standing behind John, who pulls out something; a syringe maybe, John can’t be sure because of the design and the brief glimpse he gets. The next moment there’s a sharp jab in his arm as the guard bows down behind him, lifting the sleeve to the elbow and inserting the object. Okay, that’s not good. Not fucking good. It feels like they’re drawing blood. Do they know about Ancient tech, then? That only some people are able to operate it? Do they know DNA is involved, or do they think it has to do with the blood? Either way, John realizes that this is far from over and they’re not out of the woods yet. And he has no idea how Ronon is doing, if he’s OK.

When his captors seem to have ceased shooting questions at him (for now), John licks his bleeding lip and dares asking, "Where’s Ronon?"

"Don’t you worry about him," the man says condescendingly, like he’s a child that has no need to know what the adults are up to. A smirk hints on the man’s face. "What was the big man doing on your ship?"

"He’s - We were on a trip to Balkan. Should have heard of it, nice place. We’re travelling -"

" _What_ ," the man cuts him off, leaning in closer, "was the big man doing on your ship?" This close John can feel his breath and yikes, the man could use someone to have a look at his teeth.

"We're a team. He’s the guard." Not a lie. Technically.

"Because I think you’re lying," the man goes on. "I think you’re lying, and he could be the pilot, and you’re just trying to protect him. You’re fierce for an omega." The guy steps even closer, not bending down but looking at him with dark eyes, and he smiles creepily. It’s just for intimidation, John knows, tries convincing himself. Just for show. It’s all to make him squirm and answer their questions more to their liking. Just intimidation.

(He’s been through worse. Been through worse...)

The omega glances behind the man, at the guard still holding Marie. The child is still making terrified noises and calling out for him, and John’s heart aches and his breath is caught in his throat.

"I’m telling the truth," he says. He looks back at the man, who doesn’t listen but reaches out a hand, grabbing a fistful of his hair again. All of John feels sore.

"Maybe I should ask the big guy. Ronon. Is that his full name?"

"...Dex. He’s Ronon Dex." _Specialist,_ he wants to add, spit at their feet; the guy who has killed hundreds of Wraith and he’ll get free sooner or later, and then John can easily imagine him eager to go on a spree aboard this ship, and then these people are in trouble.

"And you, omega, what are you called?"

"Luke Skywalker."

The man doesn’t get the joke, of course. He doesn’t smile. "We heard your radio communications. You’re the one called John. Do you want us to torture you in front of Ronon? Maybe _he’_ ll tell us the truth."

 _Try that, J_ ohn thinks, _and they’ll have a berserker on them._ "I’m telling the truth!"

And usually he never pleads, usually he taunts his captors, he smiles at them and cracks bad jokes with foreign references, and meets every blow with a brave face. But they’ve got Marie, and she’s crying for him, and everything hurts much more than it should. "Please. My daughter," he says, struggling against the slight crack in his voice. It’s not caused by fear but by rage, but his captors don’t know that. "Give her back."

"I will, when you’ve answered all my questions," the man says, still holding onto John’s hair, forcing him to look upwards, gaze focused on the man’s ugly mutt. "There are other, more painful ways we could do this, John."

"I’ve told you, I’m telling the truth -"

What do they want? _What do they want him to say?_

"You still got a rather pretty face, don’t you," the man goes on, his thumb starting to stroke John’s temple and it freaks John the fuck out and he finds himself frozen, muscles locked, tense. He’s seen that kind of feral look on some alphas’ faces before, but this up close and directed at him - it’s terrifying. He has no training to deal with this. He can’t fight it; all of his body is screaming at him to run away, but he can’t move a single inch.

Suddenly he become acutely aware of the guard behind him, of the knees pressed into his shoulders, of the proximity of the man. Of how the first man is flicking his gaze over his body, his free hand reaching down to begin undoing his belt. John starts sweating even though he’s cold all over, without realizing it, and he sets his jaw tightly. _This can’t be happening._

"Maybe I should bring Ronon here and have him watch as I fuck you. How’s that, omega? Will he tell me the truth then?"

"I’m telling the truth," John repeats, like a machine, I’ve told you the truth, while he has difficulty breathing.

"So I’m asking again," the man says, a hand on his throat now, caressing, putting just a little pressure in the touch - "who are you and where are you from?"

John tries to focus on anything, _anything_ besides the man’s cold gaze and Marie’s whimpers, and says, voice stilted, "I’m Lt Colonel John Sheppard, US Air Force. He’s Specialist Ronon Dex. We’re on a team from planet Earth. We’re explorers. We went to Balkan to trade."

"With a child? Why was the child there, huh, omega?"

"She’s my daughter. I brought her to see Balkan markets." This wasn’t meant to happen. This wasn’t fucking _meant to happen!_ "We’re just travelling." The man still hasn’t let go of his hair. The stinging pain is causing his eyes to begin to water. A button is popped open, and he can taste the scent of arousal in the air, tangible and sharp. _Oh god_ , John silently pleads. _Please. No. Not in front of Marie. Not in front of Ronon. Oh god, **please** -_

* * *

Then the door creaks, swinging open.

"Silas," says a strong voice. The woman speaking is clad in a different uniform, more revealing and without any insignia or markings. Nothing to reveal who she might be, what her position is. Obviously she’s some kind of commander or of higher rank, since the guy immediately stills, releases his grip and backs off. John’s heart is thundering loudly in his breast and even if this woman could mean more pain and trouble in the long run, for now he’s so, so fucking relieved.

"Has he said anything?" she continues, stepping into the cell. Her eyes sweep over the room, landing on the child which is still screaming, and then at John’s bruised face, and the man’s - Silas, apparently - bleeding knuckles. A commander. The leader of this vessel? John doesn’t dare ask, yet. His mouth feels like it’s slowly being filled with blood.

"Commander Larrin. The name of the big guy is Ronon Dex. This one," Silas says, "was piloting the ship, he says. They come a planet called Earth. He says they have just one ship, but I think he’s lying."

The woman considers for a moment. There’s arrogance and haughtiness in her voice, a certain confidence. "I ordered you to interrogate him, Silas, not beat him up. What’s the child doing here?" She’s frowning at the guard holding Marie, who is now starting to struggle with keeping her still.

"It was in the ship with them. This omega is the mother. I’m guessing the alpha in the other cell is the father."

Larrin, as she’s named - and an alpha John guesses, from the way she carries herself (the tang of blood is too heavy in the air for him to be able to pick up her scent at this distance) - gestures at the guards. "Get him on his feet. Take the child to the other prisoner, unharmed."

"Commander?" Silas asks.

"Do as I say, Silas." She nods at the two guards, who move to obey. John’s heart is sinking like a stone. He remains cuffed and aching and now Marie is being taken from his sight, being taken away - there’s no guarantee that she’ll actually be taken to Ronon or that Ronon will be all right. He might have been beaten within an inch of his life; the man certainly will not have talked. "Bring the omega. He and I are going to have a chat."

 _I’ve told you the truth!_ John wants to scream. What the hell do these people want? They’ve been asking vague, simple questions. They’ve been asking and he’s been answering and he still has no idea who they are, what they want or how to get the hell out of here. They’re in hyperspace, probably in a section of space where John has never been. There’s no way home. Ronon may be injured and he has no idea how, and now they’re taking Marie away from him.

Oh god, his child. If they hurt her ...

* * *

Silas grabs his arm, forcing him to walk forward. The light outside the cell is slightly brighter but not with much; everything has a yellowish tint and a red glow. The corridors are thin and long, and there are no windows facing space. Everything is compact, tightly bolted together. A lot of wires are running along the floor or ceiling without cover or in a particular order. Nothing like the orderly design of the Daedalus, nor like the organic chaos of a Wraith hive.

He’s lead to a room that could be a conference room, with a large table at the center. There he’s forced to sit in one of the chairs, and Silas removes the cuffs from his wrists, instead securing one of his ankles to a chair leg. A tray with some kind of food (at least he hopes it is food and not some strange devices of torture) is put in front of him. Then, with a nod from Larrin, the man _finally_ leaves. Another guard is lingering inside the room, though.

John isn’t sure if he’s stopped shivering yet. If he can. He’s raging inside, but his body feels like it’s been filled with ice, his limbs heavy and slow.

Larrin takes seat on the right side of the table, facing him. "Eat," she orders.

He’s highly doubtful that whatever odd, kind of slimy piece of ... something in front of him is even edible.

"We're not going to poison you," she adds. She doesn’t sound concerned, merely amused.

"Thanks, but I’d rather not," he says. "Will anyone tell me what the hell is going on?"

Her smile fades a little. "I am sorry for the circumstances under which you were brought here. But we had no choice."

"And I’m sorry if I don’t believe that," John retorts, "but I always have a hard time believing people who kidnap me and torture me without even introducing themselves first."

"You _are_ fierce," Larrin muses. Maybe there was a surveillance camera or a microphone, and she’s watched the whole interrogation, heard every word. John refuses to let any reaction to her comment to show on his face. "I am Larrin, Commander of this ship. We’re Travelers."

And it sounds like a name, a title, not just like the word. Like it’s what they, her people, are, their lifestyle. What does that mean? Don’t they have a planet, a homeworld, anymore? A way to escape the Wraith, maybe: if they travel by ship for most of the time, they can move out of harms way and stay out of Wraith territory, only stopping for refuel or to get more supplies - whatever fuel or power source the ship might use. John isn’t going to bother to ask.

Instead: "Where’s Ronon?"

"In a cell. Don’t worry, he’s alive. He did resist quite a bit, though. It five men to keep him down." She sounds impressed. She doesn’t elaborate on possible injures or broken bones. She doesn’t say if he’s all right.

"I want to see him and my daughter."

"You’re in no position to make demands, John Sheppard."

He sighs. He’s tired of playing games. "What do you _want?"_

She eyes him for a moment. Waits for some kind of sign, maybe. Searching him. But not like Silas was looking at him earlier, which is a relief. "You were piloting an Ancestral ship," she says, not answering directly. "That’s why we took you."

"You need our ship? Sorry, but it’s not for sale."

"No. That little thing wouldn’t do us any good," she says. She gestures for the guard, who steps forward and starts undoing the cuff. "Come with me."

* * *

The hangar bay is rather big, and empty save for his jumper and a couple of small ships that are probably transports of some kind. But that’s not what catches his attention at all. They open the floor, only a forcefield holding back vacuum, and there, below, is another ship. Much bigger and _much_ older than the one they’re currently on. It looks relatively intact, too.

"An Ancestral warship," Larrin explains, the hangar bay closing again, the large vessel disappearing from view. "It’s been drifting in a wide orbit around this the star in this system for ten thousand years and you’re going to help us get it operational again."

* * *

He’s not going to do this without an insure for the safety of his daughter and Ronon. He tells Larrin this upfront, and she’s not fazed at all; she must have been counting on it. In fact Ronon and his daughter must be a bonus for them; a bargaining chip. Hostages.

"All right," he gives in because what other choice does he have? If he doesn’t do as they say they’ll kill the hostages. He can’t fight his way out of this one. At least not the old fashioned way.

He’s going to have to be creative.

* * *

The Ancestral ship is quiet and empty. There’s basic life-support online, as well as gravity, but little else. The Travelers’ engineers have been working on it for months, Larrin says, trying to get the engines up and working again. But they don’t have anyone with the Ancient gene necessary to operate all of the technology, and can only use the functions that are already activated, or don’t require the gene at all. Which is to say of a limited usefulness.

They’ve been taken aboard by a transport vessel; Larrin, himself, Silas as guard and an engineer named Navek. She probably doesn’t want to risk too many of her people in case something goes wrong, if a hull damage exposes parts of the vessel to space or something similar. Besides there’s a radiation leak on several decks, which are being shielded by generators at the moment. The ship has gone through a serious beating and left to drift for centuries and centuries. _Rodney would be over the moon,_ John reflects a little bitterly. Atlantis could really use a ship like this. But the Travelers need it too, and not just as a battleship but as a home, and John isn’t delusional.

But there is no guarantee that Larrin will really release them once this is over; he has no idea how long then intend to keep him here anyway. He needs to find a way off, he needs Atlantis to find them, they need a chance to. And he needs to find a way to free Ronon and his daughter, to get them home safe.

* * *

It’s not the first time he’s sat in the chair on the bridge of an Ancient warship, and Navek looks completely dumbfounded when this becomes apparent. His mere presence is causing the ship to come to life, and it responds to him easily. Without either of his two guards noticing, John can feel the ship, every deck, every function, every room, like doorways have opened in his mind. He can read data logs without even thinking about it, and he doesn’t let this show on his face - the ship’s close connection is almost like that of Atlantis, just on a smaller scale, yet so familiar, almost warming and it helps getting him calm, feel like he’s in control once more.

It presents a whole range of ideas for him to use. Almost like the ship is sentient and knows that he’s a descendant of the Ancients, knows that he’s a prisoner here.

"Amazing! I’ve been trying to get these systems online for months," Navek says, awed, as the commands easily respond to John; they get the ship’s all functions gathered in the screens in front of them; engines, life-support, gravity control, propulsion systems. At least the controls weren’t damaged; John isn’t sure what he’d done if that had been the case.

There are also some things John is making sure to hide from them, and neither man seem to notice. Things like communications and inertia dampeners. A part of his mind is already reaching out, trying to get the comms online. Send an SOS.

"I need to calibrate the interface from your own input. All right, start by moving the ship forward so I can record it." That’s the plan: they need to be able to replicate it later. That’s probably what the blood sample is for; they must have biologists who are trying to figure out why some people can operate Ancient technology and some can’t. Bloodlines and all that.

But none of that is on John’s mind. "You sure about that?" he asks.

Silas growls, grabbing his ray gun and aiming at John’s temple.

"All right! I was just saying," he adds, "you said 'start by moving the ship forward', when you should have said 'start by initiating the inertia dampeners'."

"Wait -!"

Too late. There’s a second of lots of Gs pulling at him, pressing in back into the command chair, forcing oxygen out of his lungs, pressure on his chest. He hears the loud thumps of the two Travellers being thrown back against the wall, falling to the floor. Then the stops the ship from accelerating and swirls the chair around. Silas and Navek are either out cold or dazed, and John doesn’t waste a second, rushing forward and grabbing Silas’ ray gun which had fallen out of the man’s hand. Looking at it now John sees to his surprise that it’s _exactly_ like the magnum particle Ronon has. So this is where he got it from - maybe traded for it on a world where the Travelers make their pit stops.

He switches the setting to stun before hitting both Travelers. Quickly he has them tied up with the same cuffs that had been used on himself earlier - Silas had carried them in his belt - and he grabs one of their radios. Larrin is hailing them.

"Sorry, your people aren’t available right now."

Their earlier encounters and knowledge of Ancient ships and technology helps a lot now; he has systems reinitialized and checked within a few minutes. The control room is alight with screens and data; it seems, miraculously, nothing is seriously wrong with the ship. Aside from the radiation leak, there’s nothing else. The vessel’s crew must have abandoned ship. Maybe they took the jumpers to a nearby planet and gated to Atlantis, and followed with the evacuation back to Earth ten thousand years ago, leaving the ship to drift in the cold of space until it would deteriorate or be caught in orbit around a star or planet, or crash with a meteorite. But none of that had happened; instead it had been found. Even the hyperdrive looks fully operational. They have shields, barely ... No weapons, though.

 _The hyperdrive._ That’s a thought. John considers it for a long moment. That would turn the tables. Larrin, Silas and Navek would become his hostages instead of the other way around; he’d get a bargaining chip. They’d have to get out of firing range from the Traveler’s ship, though, since they had no weapons, nothing to defend themselves with.

But the Travelers knew they were onboard doing tests, recording flight data. From their point of view, a hyperspace launch might not seem so odd. And there, in the safety of hyperspace, he could send a message to Atlantis ...

Send an SOS.


	6. Chapter 6

_"We had a deal,"_ comes Larrin’s angry voice over the intercom. _"I was prepared to let you go in exchange for your help!"_

"Sorry," John says, "but say I have trust issues. None of your people are going to be hurt. By now my people will have begun starting to look for me and Ronon. Once they get here, I, Ronon and my daughter are going to be on our way, and you’ll get this ship. I’m even nice enough and recording flight data right now for Navek to use later."

_"We’re in hyperspace!"_

"Yeah, we’ve got no weapons and I don’t fancy being shot at by your people."

He can track her movements from the bridge, and she’s moving towards it. She may be alone but she’s got a gun, and he’d rather not deal with that right now. It’s easy enough to shut the doors of the corridors she’s in, locking her in. She seems stubborn though and may find a way out, but it’ll buy him some time. Once that’s done, he gets to work on communications - only one problem. It’s not working.

"Shit."

So he can’t send a radio transmission. Then what ...?

_Oh. Right. Subspace._

Someone in Atlantis ought to pick that up eventually, and Rodney will understand, and then they’ll be able to pinpoint the message. Help will come.

* * *

 _"Sheppard,"_ growls Larrin. _"I’m shutting off the shield generators."_

She’s not bluffing. The wrist devices that Navek and Silas are wearing are already blinking a warning red for rising levels of radiation, the pace getting more frantic by the minute. The two are awake now, glaring at him in silent distrust. John doesn’t let their presence bother him. He’s used to having enemies looking at him like that.

"You’ll get the ship back as soon as my people get here. No one needs to get hurt."

_"Look, I don’t want to kill you. I just need this ship. Drop us out of hyperspace, release control of the ship to me and I’ll turn the shields back on."_

If they wait longer soon the danger will be too much and they’ll all be dying of radiation poisoning. Honestly, John hadn’t thought she’d risk two of her people like that. But he’d been too naïve, too confident.

With a sigh, he relents.

* * *

They find a cell to put him in. This one is bigger, lighter and cleaner at least. And Silas doesn’t start beating him right away. In fact he’s left alone for a long while, as Navek and Larrin are in the bridge probably trying to turn the ship around - they’re out of hyperspace now, but without him they can’t do anything much. He’s locked them out of the system, trying to save time so that Atlantis may find them.

Silas is standing outside the cell looking angry and bored, and his hand keeps twitching on the handle of his gun.

John hopes it’s still set to stun.

* * *

_"You!"_

The forcefield keeping him locked in lowers in a flash, and Larrin stalks inside and her fist is in his face before he has a chance to react.

"You sent a message, broadcasting out location."

"Yes. I did," he says cautiously. His face is going to be sore all week. He hopes his nose isn’t broken - it doesn’t _feel_ broken. "For my people to find us."

"They haven’t," she announces, " _but the Wraith have_."

* * *

They need to cooperate, even if they hate to do so. Larrin hates it, at least, and John isn’t personally that inclined either but he’s not stupid. They all need to live, and he needs Larrin to live to be able to get back to the Travellers, to Ronon and his daughter who are trapped there.

Navek and Silas are in the bridge now, trying desperately to get weapons online, to strengthen the shields. Btu there is too little time and they don’t have the knowledge or manpower necessary, and the Wraith hive is bearing down on them. Larrin reluctantly lets John out of his cell; he remembers the layout of the ship in the map, and heads for the Chair Room right away. It might work from there.

This old bucket better not be out of drones.

* * *

Five far too slow and tense minutes later, he heard Larrin over the radio. The Wraith ship has been disabled, torn apart by the drones; but they’ve lost the bridge. Navek and Silas were still in there.

(And John can’t feel any regret over the death of the man who beat him, took his daughter from him and threatened to rape him. But he does feel a bit sorry for Navek, who was just a scientist trying to do the best for his people.)

Larrin is now trying to find him, to put him back in the cell. Then to fly the ship back, he supposes, but it’ll be a challenge without the bridge. Unless, of course, there’s an auxiliary control room where it should be.

There is.

* * *

The ship is ten thousand years old. It shouldn’t come as a big surprise then to find that the hyperdrive is having a hard time of it, and he can’t get it working again. He’s plotted a course back in the computer, but that’s about all he can do from here. That, and wait.

Atlantis will find them soon, they will. It’s been several hours now. They should be able to send a message ...

 _"Sheppard!"_ Larrin shouts, locked in the Chair Room as she is, which he managed to lure her into. Then her voice turns all too sweet: _"I can fix it. I’ve spent my entire life around hyper-engines. Trust me."_

"Still got trust issues," John reminds her. "I don’t disbelieve your skills, but I don’t want you anywhere outside that room right now. Don’t worry, my people are coming."

* * *

And they are, even if John can’t be sure yet.

Atlantis is in a high frenzy, tension high as news have now spread allover the city of the sudden disappearance of John and Ronon and their jumper - it’s obvious something went wrong when they never arrived through the open Gate. Carter has two rescue teams on stand.by, they just need a clue, a word, a hint of a direction. Another party is already searching Balkan but they’ve found no crashed jumper or other evidence of their presence. The locals tells them they’ve seen the pair - one merchant could even list some of the items they’d bought - and they have witness accounts of the two leaving the town, heading in the direction where they usually park the jumpers. Then the locals had told a story of something in the air: a ship. When hearing this, the search-and-rescue parties first assume it’s the jumper. But then the description diverges; this was a big ship, much bigger than a Puddlejumper, and it had came roaring through the skies through a flash of light. A hyperspace window.

Kidnapped is Rodney’s bet. From what he heard on the radio, with the jumper’s sudden loss of power and his radio contact with John abruptly cut off, he guesses weapons fire. That, and the locals’ story of a ship appearing, can only mean one thing: trouble.

The two teams sent to the planet return in silent somberness, and Carter’s face is growing ever more grim.

No one turns to Rodney and voices any nightmares, they just say, _We’ll find them, of course we will._ No one dares to yell at him or complain about anything at all.

_We’ll find them._

But where in the vastness of the Pegasus galaxy should they start looking?

* * *

Then: they pick something up.

A computer program that’s always running in the background, checking for artificial patters in background radiation, the constant white noise, is the one to discover it. It’s been on for months, it’s a standard thing, a way to pick up enemy signals or signs of other advanced life forms out there. It’s 12:30 and the labs are quiet when there’s a beeping alarm alerting of something found. Rodney is in the lab with Radek as it happens, along with several others who are working on possible scenarios; they all gather around the nearest computer to look at the data.

It’s Morse code. 

SOS.

"John," Rodney breathes. Next to him he vaguely hears Radek mutter something in Czech.

He scrambles for a radio. "Carter! We’ve got something!"

SOS, it keeps repeating, again and again for an infinite number of times, _Save Our Souls._

* * *

Then John picks up too many lifesigns on the screens. It can’t be the two dead Travellers. The bridge was ruined completely and that section is venting atmosphere; there is no way anyone in there could have survived. But Larrin doesn’t believe it, having broken out of the Chair Room by blasting a hole in the door, and now she’s running straight for whatever is moving around in the ship.

John grabs the gun he’d unwillingly been given by Larrin earlier, when it was clear the Wraith were about to attack, before securing the data terminals with an access code so that no one can come and mess with it. Then he breaks into a run.

* * *

They get half a dozen jumpers in the air within thirty minutes, once they’ve managed to extrapolate the location of the signal’s origin. It’s in a solar system too far away by jumper; they have to use the Gate. They exit orbit over the second planet of that system. But space is big, and a whole solar system is going to take a long time to sweep.

"Sensors aren’t picking up anything," Lorne says from the piloting chair. Rodney is sitting co-pilot, and Teyla and Mason are with them too. They have no idea what could lie ahead; it could be Wraith, it could be Replicators. It could be something new and different. Rodney isn’t sure which option is worst.

"Let’s see if I can expand the range," Rodney says, calibrating the sensors carefully. There has to be something ...

Lorne relays the order to the other jumpers to do the same. If just one of them can get a lock they would have at least a clue of where to start looking.

"There!" A bleak, far-away spot shows up on the HUD. It’s on the very edge of the system; it’ll take at least five hours to get there at maximum speed. _Oh please don’t let us be too late,_ Rodney thinks frantically.

"Everyone, we’re sending you some coordinates," Lorne says over radio to the others. "Head there are maximum speed. Atlantis, we’ve got a lock, but it’s going to take five hours before we know anything, and there’s no closer gate. Lorne out."

 _"Good luck,"_ says Carter. _"All of you. Atlantis out."_

The wormhole disengages.

* * *

He gets there in the nick of time. A minute later and Larrin would have been dead; but he manages to blast the Wraith five, six times in the back and eventually the creature falls down. There’s a knife impaled in its feeding hand.

"It must’ve escaped in one of the darts before their ship blew," John murmurs, kneeling next to the Wraith to make sure it’s really dead. It is. He checks for weapons, but it only had a small stunner and it’s been seriously fried. "We left the hangar bay pressurized when we came on board, and they flew right in."

"Damn it. They? There are others?" Larrin questions, obviously shaken.

"Yeah, there’s three more. We can track them with this," he says, showing her the life-signs detector.

"We’ve only got one gun between us," Larrin says, "and these things are hard to kill."

* * *

They have the size of the ship on their side, the corridors a maze for anyone not familiar with the design. And Wraith haven’t been regularly boarding these things for ten millenia; they seem a bit confused, wandering around one by one, searching for any surviving humans. The bad thing is the limited range of the life-signs detector; and when John spots one heading their way, they don’t have anywhere else to turn. It’s a dead-end. The only place to go is an open door lading into a small room, a storage unit; they’ve got plenty of those in Atlantis as well. And John gets an idea.

"What are you doing?" Larrin hisses with he starts examining the walls.

"There should be...yeah, here." He hovers his hand over it and the wall opens, revealing a hidden door. It’s not much space in there, but it’s the best hiding place they could find and they are running out of time. "Hurry!"

Larrin grumbles, but obeys. And it’s awkward as hell being pressed in that tight space together, hating each other but dependant on the other for survival right now. It’s not being helped at all when John sort of senses, rather than smells, a slight change in Larrin’s alpha scent. Like she’s aroused; and in these close quarters he feels the hint of something hard, making him want to recoil. _Ain’t that great,_ he thinks sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at her. She keeps staring at him intently, angrily, breathing harshly, silently. He tries focusing on the life-signs detector instead, their only source of light in this tiny space; it’s causing their faces to appear pale and washed-out. The seconds are long, drawn-out, eternal and John tries not to breathe. If they’re found here, they’ve got little choices in terms of fighting.

The sharp even footsteps in the corridor outside are growing louder, closer. They echo slightly in the empty rooms. One single Wraith. It enters the room; it must be looking around, even if they can’t see it. Trying to find them. They’re holding their breaths now, even while glaring at each other.

Then, after an eternity, the footsteps fade away. A door slides shut.

Exhale.

"Now what?" Larrin hisses.

"We got to find the other two," he whispers back, "and set a trap."

And he’s not going to be bait this time.

* * *

Six Atlantis jumpers have been travelling for three hours now, heading toward the outer reaches of the system relentlessly. It’s not a coincidence, Rodney thinks, that the ship’s course would have taken it right to the third planet, to the space Gate there. It probably dropped out of hyperspace too early, by accident - or sabotage. They’re still too far out to get a proper reading on the ship, whether it’s actually one or two or more, what design and size, and most importantly: if it’s Wraith or something else. He has a hunch it’s not Wraith. It’s just not their style, and he’s not sure if John could hack into their comms and send a subspace message like that. Maybe he could. He’s not sure. Rodney _hates_ being not sure.

"It’s no use. I’m doing everything I can think of to boost the sensors; they’re just too far out," he sighs. "We have no idea what’s out there, or who."

"It doesn’t matter," says Lorne, suddenly, Mason nods sharply to emphasize alongside. "Whatever’s out there, we’ll get the Colonel and Ronon back. A fleet of Wraith Hives wouldn’t stop us from trying."

"Yes," says Teyla. She reaches out, lays a hand on Rodney’s shoulder and for once he doesn’t mind. "We will find them, Rodney."

Not saying anything, just nodding, Lorne tries to press more speed from the engines. If they don’t make it, if they’re too late ... it’s unthinkable. It’s so crazy, the Major thinks; he’d been in the Gate room himself when the Colonel and Ronon had left for Balkan. They were supposed to be gone for a couple of hours, maximum, check out the market, show little Marie around the big world; Balkan is a safe planet, they’ve never had trouble there before. And now they’ve been kidnapped by who knows what. He glances, concerned, at the scientist in the co-pilot chair. Dr McKay is awfully pale.

* * *

They’ve split up; Larrin, armed with the life-signs detector, has gone to level three, to one of the outlying corridors near the hull. John is sitting in the Chair now, waiting for the signal. It’ll be a narrow thing, the timing has to be perfect. If he misses, shoots too early or too late - then Larrin will die, with the Wraith or because of them, and then he’ll have no idea how to get back to the Traveler’s ship, to get back to his daughter, to Ronon. He can’t let that happen.

He launches the drone with a thought. The ship lets him know it was a hit; there’s damage to the hull, they’re leaking oxygen rapidly, a whole section has lost pressure in a moment.

"Larrin?" he asks over the intercom. "Larrin, come in."

No answer.

_Fuck._

* * *

He finds her in the corridor where she should have been, lying on her back, prone. There’s a Wraith leaning over her, pale hair spilling over its shoulders. The woman isn’t moving; her face old, hands tired, eyes glossed over.

"How many others of you are there on this ship?" the Wraith is asking. Larrin lies still, quiet, in shock. How could anyone answer anything in that state?

"It only takes one."

John presses the muzzle of the gun to the Wraith’s head.

"I see that you’ve just fed, which means that your regenerative powers are at its fullest. However, I _seriously_ doubt you can regrow a new head. So, you’re going to give back what you took. Then I’m going to let you walk away. Go the hangar bay, take your dart, and go. There’s a space gate in this system. It’ll take some time to reach it, but you’ll get there."

"And how should I trust you, human?" the Wraith sneers.

"You can’t. Either you do as I say, or I’ll just shoot you right now."

The Wraith hesitates. Then, slowly, it lays its hand on Larrin’s weak chest. And watching it like this is creepy and revolting and John’s whole body is sharply reminded of the feeling, of how life was drained from him and then given back - _the Gift of Life,_ the Wraith had said - and the scar still remaining, refusing to fade, burns all over again like it’s bleeding. His knuckles turn white, hold of the gun tightening, as Larrin’s body regains its strength and her face its youth, her hair its colour. With a gasp she comes to, eyes focused once again. He’s never seen such open, raw emotion from her before.

Once it’s done the Wraith slowly stands. John lets it, lets it stand and walk away, and he keeps his gun aimed at it until he’s certain it’s gone. A glance at the life-signs detector tells him it’s heading for the hangar bay, keeping its end of the bargain.

For a while Larrin lies there, still and disbelieving.

"You all right?" John asks.

"I, I don’t know," she says. She sounds confused. Hell, of course she is. She was on the brink of death just a minute ago. Now her veins are filled to the brim with life, her heart beating anew. Her body has to be hurting, too, and he sees that she’s trying to hide it but there’s a slight tremble. "That was..."

"Yeah," he says, humourlessly. For a second his bones ache like that time - like he’s forcefully trying to forget - his flesh old and useless and unable to move. "I know."

That causes her to look at him in a completely new way. She doesn’t ask, though, for which John is grateful. That’s an old story he’d rather remain buried forever.

(She hasn’t seen the scar across his chest.)

Wordlessly he offers a hand, and she takes it, slowly standing up.

"So I guess this is the point where I turn this ship around -" John starts, but then, suddenly, suddenly _she’s kissing him._

Taken aback (yet not a hundred percent confused because he’d sensed her arousal earlier) he just stands there for a moment, unable to formulate a proper thought, stop or encourage her or anything. Her tongue is in his mouth, strong and demanding, the scent of alpha clear and heavy like a thick perfume, and her hands on his waist, one reaching down toward the lining of his trousers -

She tugs something from his belt. The gun. Then her grip slackens, and John pulls back, violently almost. "Hey!"

Larrin smirks at him. "Couldn’t help it, could I? A handsome omega and I, all alone."

"You can’t just _do_ that," he growls.

"Sorry," she says unapologetically and raises the gun, setting it for stun.

"Hey, wait! I’m giving you the ship now. You don’t have to shoot me." And then he thinks abruptly of the baby that she doesn’t know that he’s carrying. He has no idea what kind of effect that gun might have; he’s been stunned by Wraith weaponry before while pregnant, true, but these guns are much more powerful, built with killing as a primary objective. "You really shouldn’t," he adds.

"Yeah, and why is that?" she retorts. "You double-crossed me."

"You kidnapped me," he answers, "and you still have hostages. All I want is to get back to them and for us to be given the Puddlejumper, our ship. Then we can pretend none of this ever happened. We’ll be even. If you can hail your ship ..."

"Communications are damaged."

"Then we’ll fix it."

She sighs. Then she lowers the gun, just slightly. "I think I like you too much, Sheppard. Next time I will shoot you, though."

There won’t be a next time, John is going to make sure.

* * *

It takes nearly three quarters of an hour to patch up the comm systems enough to send a message to the Traveler ship. It’s just a temporary fix, they don’t have the right tools or materials available, but Larrin is confident that her people will have it all in working order later. Given some time, this ship will be under their control completely, and it will be inhabitable. It has to be. Because the Travellers, she tells him, they don’t have a planet anymore. They have lived on their ships for generations and now they’re running out of resources, and they aren’t able to build new ships. The Ancient warship is quite literally a lifeboat for their civilization.

Within half an hour of the message being sent, the Travelers have caught up with them. Larrin orders for a transport to come and pick them up.

And John’s whole system is flooded with relief when he’s taken to Ronon’s cell. The big man is grumpy, angry, bruised, and he might have a broken rib, but he’s breathing and standing on his own and Marie is with him. The girl has stopped crying, appearing to be asleep, perhaps out of stress and shock rather than any feeling of comfort and safety, but nonetheless not in a state of panic anymore; Ronon is cradling her carefully. His brow is bleeding. At seeing him, the alpha stands, hands him his daughter wordlessly, and then turns to the nearest unfortunate guard and beats them into the ground with one blow.

"Sorry about that," says John to Larrin, without an ounce of feeling. That guy could very well have been Ronon’s tormentor, just as Silas was his.

Then Ronon walks up to her. Stares at her; and few people are able to meet that stare head-on.

"If we meet again I’ll kill you," he says.

"Hey, hey," John says, interrupting before Ronon can do more than threaten the other alpha; they don’t need to cause another conflict. He just wants to get the hell out of here. Go home. "Ronon, I’m OK. Just - let it go. We’re getting out of here."

The big Satedan keeps his gaze fixed on the other alpha for a long while, before releasing it. His fists are still clenched. John fears the big guy will pop a vein unless he takes a breath.

His voice is gravel, the echoing threat of a grenade, the rumble of an untethered storm: "I don’t forget."

She just says, "I understand."

Then Ronon turns to John, looks him over, and seems to relax a fraction when not detecting any major injuries. His dark eyes linger on John’s belly, at the not even visible bump, a protective hand reaching out to cover it, and John says, "We’re OK, don’t worry."

Larrin is looking between them now, an odd look on her face. John wonders in a bout of paranoia if Ronon can sense that he, just an hour ago, had been kissed by her. After a moment of silence, she asks, a hint of disbelief in her voice, "Wait, no, don’t fucking tell me you’re _carrying a baby_."

John sighs. He’d hoped that she’d not find that out. Well, it had been more of a concern earlier, when he was still a prisoner being interrogated. "Yeah."

For a moment she’s speechless.

"My fucking luck," she mutters. And John wonders briefly if she’d planned on killing him and any hostages once this was over. Dump them on some planet without a Stargate, or just execute them by pushing them out of an airlock to be taken by the cold embrace of vacuum. Or, maybe - a darker thought - she’d have changed her mind, gotten rid of Ronon but not him. Because omegas are rare, and the Travelers are a dying race, and they’ve got a new ship now, a new home; and he has the genes of the Ancients needed to operate it. But John doesn’t linger on the thought, doesn't ever want to linger on it. She’s staring now, at his abdomen.

Then Larrin waves her hand, gesturing at the open door. There are no guards there now, no weapons pointed at them. John is glad she doesn’t comment further on the matter. "Your ship is in the hangar along with all of your gear and weapons. You’re free to leave. And Sheppard," she adds when they walk past, stopping him. Frowning he looks at he questionably, and she smiles a little in a way which makes him want to react, raise a fist in defense. "No hard feelings, yeah?"

(And he doesn’t think she’s talking about the kidnapping itself by the way she wets her lips. Suddenly he wishes he had his gun.)

* * *

Six jumpers emerge close to two large ships, and Rodney peers out of the windscreen, pondering. One of them has a totally alien design that they can’t identify, but the larger of the vessels is _definitely_ an Ancient warship, Aurora-class.

"Replicators?" asks Lorne worriedly.

"I don’t think so. I’m not picking up any of the energy signatures associated to them. Wait...something’s happening. They’re entering hyperspace."

The two large vessels disappear from their screens. Rodney stares, flabbergasted.

"We missed them."

The timing had been miserable.

* * *

But:

 _"...Anyone reading this?"_ says a voice over the radio.

John. Oh, god, _John!_

Rodney hasn’t been so quick to answer in his life. "John! Are you OK?"

_"A bit bruised but fine. Ronon and Marie are here too, they’re OK. Well, Ronon needs a medic, I think he’s got a broken rib. And he’s in a very bad mood."_

"What on Earth happened!?"

_"That’s a long story ..."_


	7. Chapter 7

Six hours later they’re back in Atlantis, and Rodney gets his first proper look at his mate since this whole ordeal startled.

He’s horrified. There’s a large bruise slowly blossoming over John’s face - nothing is broken or fractured, Keller reports, relieved, it’s only soft tissue damage. ( _'Only!?'_ Rodney had scoffed (or shouted) at the doctor.) There’s also a mark after a needle in the crook of John’s elbow; their kidnappers, the so-called Travelers, had drawn blood according to John. They needed it to be able to get control of the Ancient warship, apparently. That was the whole point of the kidnapping; to find someone able to operate Ancient technology, so that they could learn to themselves. The echo of handprints are scattered over John’s wrists, arms, torso.

Ronon, in the next bed over, is in a worse shape physically. His bruises are deeper and greater in number. There are a few shallow cuts on his arms, one across his back, a tear in his shirt. The Satedan has been permanently glaring at anyone or anything in silent rage all the time since they got back, and is now growling at the nurses not to touch him. Of course they’re not listening and only doing their job, and Keller has threatened to sedate him or cuff him to the bed if he doesn’t cooperate. Ronon doesn’t seem to care of his own injures; he’s only had focus on John and Marie since they were (forcibly, Rodney has to add) dragged into the infirmary.

Apparently he had refused to speak a word when they’d been interrogated, resulting in a beating, but eventually the captors had given up and turned their attention to John.  
Major Lorne is in there too, as well as Teyla, and - appearing after a while - Colonel Carter. They’re crowded around two of the beds forming a protective shield.

"Should we go after them, sir?" Lorne wonders. Asking him, not Carter, albeit she gives a subtle nod in acknowledgement. 

"Nah. Don’t bother. They needed our help, they just had a stupid method of asking for it," John says, far too flippantly in Rodney’s mind.

"I’d say," the Major mutters, arms crossed.

A written report is going to have to be made, even if it officially wasn’t a mission; the SCG will want to know the details, especially since these Travelers are strangers to them. But they’ve heard the short version already; and John and Ronon both had glossed over their bad treatments, and everyone knows it. Hearing John just _mention_ how Marie was taken from him as a method of gaining answers causes Rodney’s blood to boil. And these things are news to Ronon as well, since they’d been separated; the way the Satedan growls out a very ugly phrase, partly left untranslated, is enough to tell them that. It’s not going to be pretty, Rodney thinks, when the Satedan gets the full story on all that happened to John.

Thank god Marie is OK at least. She’s physically fine; she’s just going to need some time to recover emotionally. She’s been in distress a long time, and while on the ship hadn’t been fed well or allowed all the sleep she needed - all she’d wanted was to be back with her parents, even if Ronon had done his best to care for her. John has had her as close to him as physically possible ever since he got her back, and no one dares to make him do otherwise.

There’s more to the story, Rodney is certain. Something John isn’t revealing yet. Some things that may not even show up on the official report.

* * *

It’s well past midnight on New Lantea, and John can’t sleep.

He can still taste the ghost of Larrin’s hard kiss, feel the echo of Silas’ relentless grip on his hair, the unwanted caress on his throat. That unwelcome smile, a stranger’s voice whispering, _You still got a rather pretty face, don’t you. Still got a rather pretty face -_

He twists and turns in the sheets, sweating, and blearily stumbles out of bed for the bathroom. Before he can even process it, he’s on his knees dry heaving, and he hears noise from the bedroom, Rodney calling out his name.

"Hey, are you all right? John?"

"Yeah," he mutters hoarsely, trying to regains his voice. A glass of water is offered. He tries drinking a little, but can’t keep it down. He hadn't managed to do more than poke at dinner either, back in the infirmary, and Keller had glared at him and eventually made him eat at last half a cut of jell-o. "I’m ... I’ll be fine."

"My ass you are," says Rodney. "Need to go to the infirmary?"

"No." No, he doesn’t need more exams, more prodding, more questions, more needles. He needs a chance to _breathe._ "Just. Gimme a moment."

Rodney kneels next to him, an arm softly, supportingly, around his back. The scientist seems skittish, like he’s afraid that one tiny wrong move will set the omega off. John tries to smile. "It’s probably just the baby."

"Maybe," says Rodney, doubtful. John hasn’t had morning sickness a single time during this pregnancy. He’s sure that whatever the Travellers did set this off. Or exhaustion, stress, pain. John’s whole left side of his face is rather discoloured now, and must be stinging terribly. Maybe a combination of it all. Whatever the reason, neither of them are going to sleep much tonight. "I’ll get another ice-pack."

* * *

The next day John sends a file to Carter, to be stored in the database, the official version of what happened; it includes a brief, glossed over tale of how he and Ronon had been on Balkan, encountered no to trouble and sensed no danger. John is certain they hadn’t been watched on the planet. No; the Travellers must have been surveiling radio transmissions on a wide range frequencies, possibly for a long time. And above Balkan they managed to get a hit.

Rodney gets his hands on the file pretty quick. He’s not sure if he wants to read it, but needs to know. It’s written in an as impersonal tone as expected. It could be any report of any mission; there’s a lot of things on the Travelers, their technology, any intel John managed to gather. The recount of the interrogation John had suffered is distant, emotionless and that somehow makes it worse. To read the exact number of beatings, and how their daughter was ripped from John’s arms - she must’ve been terrified, screaming, but the only word used to describe her in that moment is 'in distress' and it’s a sick understatement.

Then Rodney reaches a paragraph describing the jailor’s threats, the touches, the implications of what would have happened if the Travelers’ Commander, Larrin, hadn’t interrupted. And he feels ill and has to close down the laptop for a moment (struggle not to throw it into the nearest wall), pace around the room for a few minutes to get his pulse back to normal.

(John doesn’t seemed shaken during the day. He’d appeared shockingly normal and collected and unaffected by anything, but had slept poorly all night, and remained quiet when they’d eaten in the mess hall. He’d gone on a long run with Ronon and not spoken, not told anyone anything, only smiled casually and everything seemed OK.)

And he’s shocked, Rodney has to admit that, when at the bottom of the file John recommends staying carefully optimistic. That he means the Travellers are no direct threat to them, but could be useful allies one day. That they’ve got important technology - and there is a point, but Rodney never wants to hear about them again and certainly not contact or make _allies_ with them.

How could John think that? How could he still assume that to be possible after all those people put him through?

_How -?_

* * *

It’s there in his study, laptop resting on his knees, curled up on the white couch, that John finds him that afternoon.

"Hey, Rodney, what’s wrong?"

Rodney doesn’t say anything at first, but stands up and walks over to the threshold, and pulls John into an embrace. More than anything John seems confused and put off-guard. "Hey? Rodney, it’s OK. I’m OK."

"I read the report."

He can feel more than hear John sigh a little, arms curling around his back in response. "They can’t get to us here. I never gave them the address. They can’t find us."

"That’s not the _point,_ idiot," Rodney mutters. "I want to charge them for sexual assault."

"- What?" The omega is even more bewildered now.

"They - they almost." The alpha’s voice cracks with rage. "He could have. That man. He could have -" The words die on his tongue. He doesn’t want to say it aloud, make it real. "And Larrin too. She kissed you _against your will_."

"Rodney, they didn’t go through with it. You need to focus on that, all right? _They didn’t go through with it_."

"Yes but she _did,_ John,that’s the point you’re missing. That, that woman -" Less kind words rest right there on his tongue, all poisonous. "You should have let Ronon shoot them - _you_ should have shot them."

"And let them hurt our daughter? Rodney, I understand, but I couldn’t. And I’m here now and I’m OK." Not wholly a lie. His body has already begun to heal and, eventually, the rest of him will too. "We’re OK. That’s what’s important."

_That’s what’s important._

* * *

Neither of them manages to fall back asleep that night.


	8. Chapter 8

Being off-duty has quickly grown old. He pesters Rodney for days, lounging in the labs - though pesters might be the wrong word for it, because Radek seems very relieved to have him there, directing Rodney’s lines of thought into something less angry and self-destructive, and he pinches in to help with calculations in matters that he comprehends. Which is quite a lot, actually, giving his alpha all kinds of reasons to smirk smugly. This slice of undisturbed life, family life, is rather nice; he could get used to it, maybe, he thinks, except after a few weeks he’s going to miss the rush of adrenaline and exhilaration of Gate travel. Not to mention flying. They’re not even allowing him to take a spin around the planet for leisure.

This afternoon is quiet. They have one single team off-world, on a trading mission. John has talked with Carter about letting him be on those, like they’d first agreed, but ever since the thing with the Travelers - well, no one is comfortable with the idea anymore. Ronon has barely let him out of his sight since it happened, thirteen days ago; and the only sign of being irritated with it Rodney gives when the Satedan lounges in the labs, disturbing the coffee machines and other equipment and the alpha is seriously considering banning him because he’s disturbing them from working. At which Ronon had just smirked innocently, and John had discreetly slid a hand to rest on Rodney’s thigh, giving him a _look,_ and Rodney had made a strangled noise at the back of his throat: "All right. Fine. But make sure he cleans up the messes he makes."

Now the unlikely two have gone to fetch some food from the mess - there’s a simulation running in the background, and John, busily helping Marie build a tower of blocks on a blanket on the floor, and waved his hand; "I can keep an eye on it." Somehow he’d managed to convince Ronon to go with Rodney, and the silence settling in their wake was much like a sigh of relief. He’s grateful for all they do, helping out, comforting - but sometimes it’s like a wet blanket forced over his head: settling all too heavily, almost suffocating. They mean well, though, so he doesn’t berate them.

Just a couple of minutes after the two alphas have gone, though, there’s a careful knocking on the door frame; it’s already open, so John glances up, surprised.

"Hey," John greets, slightly uncertain. For all the time that’s passed, he’s never really held a proper conversation with Teyla’s mate; at least the other omega appears equally uncertain about where they stand. Kanaan wavers on the threshold until John smiles, waves him inside. "Everything holding up OK?" he asks.

Kanaan had moved into the city, settling permanently here, shortly after his and Teyla’s Bonding Ceremony. And they all are friendly and as accommodating as they can - but it’s not the same as when the Athosians all had been living here as refugees, and Kanaan is a rather quiet person, from what John has come to understand. Keeps to the background, just lingering at the edges, watching. John has glimpsed him in the Control room now and then, when SGA-1 is about to head out, and he’s greeted him in the mes hall more often than not. But neither have actually walked up to each other before to just talk.

"Uh, yes, Colonel. Actually," Kanaan says, "I was meaning to ask you ... That is, I need some advice." The omega trails off, looks at the child playing; Marie notices the other person in the room and pauses, grabs her miniature Jumper (she loves that thing) and makes appropriate noises as she flies it toward the stranger. John can’t actually remember if Kanaan has been properly introduced to her.

"Yeah?" Suddenly worried, because the guy is Teyla’s mate after all, and Teyla is the kindest, most badass woman John has ever met. If the two somehow has an issue, if they can’t talk about something - well, he can’t imagine Teyla treating Kanaan with anything but respect, and vice versa.

Some of those fears must have shown on his face, because Kanaan quickly adds, "We are not in dissent."

"Good to hear. So, what d’you need my advice for?"

The other omega pulls up a chair, glancing at the open doors, but they’re alone. So this is something sensitive, then, private or worrying or both -

"Actually, I have some news I am not sure how Teyla will take."

"Look, uhm, I’m probably not the best guy to talk relationships with," John says, not ungently, but honestly. Fuck, what if Kanaan is hurt or injured or dying of some illness or - Or maybe they’ve had a falling out. A fight. He and Rodney fight now and then, argue, yell. Not too often, which John is glad for, but they’re not immune to it. Kanaan and Teyla have been courting for quite a while but not been committed for as long; maybe they’ve had a really big fight? Those first ones always suck hard, feeling like low blows that can easily end it all. Though John is sure Teyla wouldn’t do something as stupid as blow up a solar system. But he’d said they’re not at dissent - so that means; a secret, of some kind. _News,_ he’d said. Is he ill? The guy does look a little pale, a little under the weather.

"It’s ... Teyla is part of your team, and goes on missions very often. Every time she goes I worry about her safe return."

_Ah._

A brief silence settles, only filled by Marie’s happy, oblivious engine noises, the Jumper in her hand in a nosedive, curving upward right before it hits the floor. John, hand on Marie’s side to steady her and keep her from trying to run off, nods. Relief is surging through him to know that Teyla and Kanaan aren’t falling out, that there’s no dark secret lurking behind them. "I know it’s not always easy. There are dangerous things, a lot of unknowns, beyond the Gate. But I swear we look after her - we’re a team. We got each other’s six. We do everything for each other." It’s surprisingly easy to say these things, heartfelt, because they’re true.

Kanaan inclines his head. "I know. She has explained to me. But all of our lives have been in the shadow of the Wraith, and now Teyla is out there fighting them with you. But that’s not entirely why I am here. As I have come to understand it, you are in a unique position. And living here instead of New Athos, along with the rest of my kin, I sometimes find Atlantis a little ... overwhelming."

John can sympathize with that. Hoping it’ll get easier, but cannot make such a promise. Kanaan has to be feeling out of his depth; he hasn’t had the time or dedication Teyla has to get used to the Lanteans, to their odd mannerisms and Earth cultures. A sudden thought strikes him, making him frown. "Anybody giving you trouble? ’Cause I can -"

"No, not as such. Though I admit you Earthlings are a bit odd. No offense, Colonel," he adds worriedly.

He chuckles. "None taken."

"How do you do it?" Kanaan asks abruptly. "How do you go through the Ancestral Ring when you have a daughter here?"

It clicks into place like a puzzle. Sighing a little, John cradles her closer, feeling her heartbeat. Throat tightening a little, all of a sudden, unbidden. "I guess because I know if we don’t fight back, she won’t have a home to grow up in." A soft, simple admission. It’s like a wish: one he doesn’t vocalize often.

"But you have the planet you came from, Earth, beyond the Ring, don’t you? The Wraith cannot get there, from what I understand."

"Yes, but - but it’s not home. This," he sweeps a hand -  _this planet, this city, this galaxy_ \- he cannot decide which word fits - "is home."

"I see. I... That does make sense. Thank you." Kanaan is quiet, for a moment. Watching the child play. She is moving on from the Jumper now, returning to her blocks to build a tower, or possibly a city. The omega’s presence doesn’t seem to bother her, as if she knows, instinctively, that he’s a friend and not a foe. John wonders if Kanaan has heard about what happened with the Travellers, what Teyla told him, if he’s gotten a glimpse of the reports. Maybe it would explain his still movements, why he doesn’t move closer, not out of shyness or nerves but out of care.

"We worry for our loved ones," Kanaan murmurs. "All the time."

"Yeah. Guess how it works." John flickers a smile, pleasantly surprised to be sharing this moment. Before now Kanaan has been a name, a face, distant and barely recognizable. Teyla does not talk a lot about personal matters, only letting them know about her relationship with the omega until several months had passed and they’d decided to mate in an Athosian ceremony. That was right before the disaster with the Replicators. Before Elizabeth died.

A weight bears down on his chest, and John struggles to get past it. To not think about the dead.

Kanaan isn’t moving. Like there’s more, and John lets him take his time. It’ll be awhile before Ronon and Rodney get back with lunch. Eventually, the omega says, quietly, "There is a reason these fears have struck me more often as of late."

But before the Athosian can finish the sentence an alarm begins to sound. It echoes sharply in the lab, and Kanaan stands up rapidly, all tense, clearly in a fight-or-flight mode, born from a lifetime of running from the Wraith. But this isn’t the whine of a Dart overhead, nor is it the general klaxon declaring an incoming wormhole - that alarm shouldn’t even be sounding this far from the Gate room. No, this is different.

Then the doors slam shut.

* * *

"...That’s not good," John murmurs, getting to his feet. Marie has dropped her toys, and he hugs her close as he approaches the doors. Swipes a hand over the controls - they’re not responding. At all.

_Shit._

He looks at Kanaan, who is empty handed, and just as confused. Bringing a hand up he taps his earpiece. "Control, this is Sheppard, come in."

Nothing. Not even static. As if comms are down. But that makes no sense. In case of an attack, they’d not take down comms unless the enemy somehow was jamming them; and the shields aren’t up, and nobody’s firing at them - there are no ships in the skies. What the hell is going on?

He switches to their private channel. "Rodney, come in." Nothing on their team frequency either. "Radios are down."

"That is not good," Kanaan says. "I thought you always had them online?" He must have been roughly woken up at ungodly hours more than once by Teyla’s radio calling her into action, dragging her out of their bed.

"Yes, usually."

"What is happening then?"

"I don’t know." This is _not good._ Maybe ...

He crosses the room, grabs the nearest computer. The answer could be somewhere here, in the sensor logs or wherever; these computers are tied into the city’s mainframe, most of it anyway. "I don’t think we’re under attack." It makes no sense, though.

He tries shifting Marie on his hip and work the computer simultaneously, but Kanaan nears him, offering to hold her, and John hesitantly allows it. Marie is a bit confused, but then pleased enough, curiously poking Kanaan’s nose while babbling at him. Seeing her acceptance is immensely calming, helps him focus. Kanaan seems a natural - maybe, on Athos, he’s had a lot of practice, because the Athosians look after each other well beyond the bonds of blood - his grip unhesitant.

"Can you see what is happening?"

John tries. He can understand some of this, but not all. Not all is in English, untranslatable for some reason, and his Ancient isn’t perfect. Plus Rodney and the others don’t usually let him poke around within the city’s systems like this. And it’s easier to do it from the Control Room, not a lab. But eventually, there’s something.

"We’re not under attack. The city thinks there’s some kind of disease outbreak and is in lockdown. But these readings...they don’t make sense. There was a disturbance in the ionosphere a couple of hours ago, threw the systems off kilter..." John trails off. Kanaan knows too little of these terms to follow other but very broadly. He’ll spare him the technobabble.

He could really use Rodney right about now.

 _Rodney..._ The radios are off. If Rodney doesn’t have access to a computer, then he will have no idea what’s going on, and no way to fix it. They’d left for the mess, what, eighteen minutes ago? And the alpha hadn’t taken a PDA or anything with him. They’d gone to fetch food, after all, and he needs both hands for that. So now he is probably stuck somewhere, in a cut-off corridor or possibly a transporter, either alone or with Ronon, and no computer. He’s going to panic.

_Shit -_

"Colonel?" Kanaan asks, voice low with concern. "This lockdown, could it be - removed? opened? I am not certain of the term appropriate, here."

"Yes, but you need Rodney’s password to override it - I’m seriously gonna have a chat with him about that later." Oh - "Fortunately, I _do._ " Not that Rodney had told him it with a situation like this in mind. John had glimpsed it, and laughed slightly hysterically and very fondly because _honestly, Rodney_ \- "He showed me his password once. Didn’t I’d remember it," John adds at Kanaan’s confused look. "Not sure if it works from here, but ... 1-6-4-3-1-8-7-9-1-9-6-8-4-2." And a message pops up: _password accepted_. "See! Didn’t take a genius."

The Athosian shakes his head in disbelief, smiling a little. "Your memory is very sharp, Colonel."

John grins, "Like remembering a Stargate address." But he doesn’t bother explaining how they’re just a lot of years, one after the other, when famous Earth scientists where born (with a big dash of Rodney’s ego thrown in), because it’ll mean squat to Kanaan. It’s just foreign references to the Athosian; he’d not appreciate the humour. Instead John looks back at the screen, and holds back a groan. There’s a lot of data, even more than before, and he can’t see any big red button reading ’Press here to override lockdown’.

"Right. This is gonna take awhile..."

* * *

It takes a while to make sense of things. The city’s system isn’t just one thing. It’s more like a coherent mass of different programs and systems with sub-systems, and to boot most of it is written in Ancient, or basically just quite hard to understand for the uninitiated. And it’s not like he’s messed around with these things a lot. But after a while, half an hour maybe, there’s something catching his eye. Something not good. There’s an error message: _lockdown holding._ It’ll only accept commands given in Control, where the primary consoles are.

And another thing: a beacon, acting as both a distress call and a warning.

"Fuck."

The Athosian, who has settled on the floor now with Marie, the girl crawling across the expanse of the blanket gleefully, looks up. "What is it?"

"Part of the lockdown program includes broadcasting an alert beacon to warn ships to stay away."

Even Kanaan understands that this is bad. "And this is occurring right now?"

"Five-by-five, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. We need to shut it off before the Wraith, or any other bad guys, pick it up. Granted the signal only appears to be reaching his solar system, but if there are _any_ ships out there happening to pass by..."

The Athosian grows pale. "Then we must find a way to turn it off."

John signs. "I’ve tried, but it won’t accept input of any commands. Looks like it’ll only be shut off from the subspace transmitter which is only linked to the Control room, no place else. And I guess the guys up there either hasn’t seen it, or, more likely, they don’t have access to Rodney’s password to shut it off." They really got to look into these systems to make it more available to other senior staff, just in case of situations like these. Another thing to remind Rodney to fix. (Along with that broken jumper in the underwater bay, and the other thousand little things they hadn’t had time to repair and look over yet.)

 _Shit, don’t think about Rodney._ Rodney who is, probably, trapped somewhere freaking out: the ongoing lockdown is clear evidence of that. If he were anywhere near a computer, or the Control room itself, it’d be over by now, all before dinnertime.

"Colonel?" Kanaan asks, and John glances at him, a reminder: they’ve got to fix this. Fix this before Atlantis is discovered by an enemy. Stuck in here he can’t get to the Chair and defend the city; stuck in here he can’t do anything -

_Stuck in here._

"We need to find a way out."

* * *

Broken panels is something he actually has fiddled with before. He knows two or three tricks to make doors work again. But this time, no matter how many tries and different ways, the doors just refuse to budge. At one point the panel flickers but still no movement.

"Nothing’s working," John mutters. "All right, plan B - let’s blast our way out of here. See any weapons or C4, anything that could be used to bring that door down?"

Kanaan looks doubtful; why would McKay have weaponry hidden in his lab? Marie does after all spend quite a lot of time in this room with him, and there’s a big no-no of having sharp objects or anything else capable of destruction anywhere near her. But the Athosian nods, and the two of them begin a search anyway.

* * *

And at the same time, inside the darkened, thin-aired space of a transporter, Rodney cannot stop his rising heartrate. Ronon has stopped attacking the doors; he’s gone from trying to pry them apart, to throwing himself at them with his full body weight, to sinking down on the floor with a gasp and an angry growl. Eventually, Rodney had had enough and shouted at him to stop because it obviously did nothing good.

Rodney has tried with the crystal panel - almost ended up getting an electrical shock. Only Ronon’s fast reflexes saved him from that one.

"What do we do now? Oh, oh god we’re gonna die here from suffocation, stuck in a transporter - it’s like some bad romcom movie, except ten times worse and we’ll suffocate, and we were just on the way to fetch lunch. _Lunch!_ And today’s spaghetti!"

From where he’s sitting on the floor, Ronon gives him a dark look.

"Yes, ten times worse, and I happen to like spaghetti!" Rodney goes on, a cry. "This kind of thing just doesn’t _happen_. The city must be malfunctioning, somehow. Or there’s a lockdown. Yes, I’m pretty sure we’re in a lockdown."

"Why?" the Satedan asks, gruffly.

"What, _why,_ what do you mean _why_? How would _I_ know?! I’ve been stuck with you all this time -" At the casual, angry shrug sent his way, Rodney crosses his arms, no longer flailing in raged panic.

"Fine. I doubt we’re under attack. It’s too quiet for that. Plus, why are the radios out? There’s -" Thinking about it. Shit. There’s so much that could go wrong and is going wrong right now. "There could be an outbreak, a virus, something like that - or if the shield failed it would cut off sections but we don’t need the shield right now, it’s not even on. No, there’s got to be a malfunction."

"Can you fix it?"

"From here? No. No. I need a computer."

Ronon is eyeing the doors of the transporter again. They’re not as massive as ordinary doors. Rodney follows his gaze and shakes his head, but the Satedan is already standing, apparently having gotten his breath back. Rodney cannot see how: the air in here is getting thinner by the minute. They’re already sweating because of the heat. The vents are off.

A city-wide malfunction.

And this started as a _good_ morning.

With a sigh, Rodney presses himself to the opposite wall, gesturing toward the doors: "Knock yourself out then, Chewie."

Ronon resumes his attack.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later and they got nothing; they’d stopped searching when Marie had loudly declared her displeasure, and though Kanaan had carefully rummaged around a little more while John fed her, they’ve found nothing to be of use to bring down that door.

He hadn’t even brought his sidearm, and Kanaan is equally unarmed. But then John glances at the window, and gets an idea. It’s stupid, but they’ve been stuck here for well over an hour now, it’s been too long and what if the Wraith have picked up that signal? Or someone else? If a ship is approaching, he needs to get up to the control room, shut off the beacon, help out. It has to be done. So John gives Marie back to Kanaan to hold, and the Athosian watches wide-eyed as he grabs a nearby pallet and hurls it at one of the windows of the room.

The glass breaks easily, shattering in white noise and then there’s a fresh breeze of air, a little cold, hitting their faces.

"Colonel?" Kanaan says. The omega frowns, probably seeing what he’s thinking.

"Look," he says, "the control room is only four floors above us. All I have to do is climb up and I’m in."

"Is that even possible?" the omega gasps, not daring to step closer to the broken glass all-over the floor. His voice returns to seriousness: "Colonel, you are three _evii_  pregnant." The time measurement doesn’t translate properly; it’s an Athosian term which Teyla’s taught him corresponds with the cycles of the largest moon of Athos.

"Yes. I’m not injured. I can climb just fine."

"Colonel -"

"Just stay here with Marie." His tone begs for no questions: it’s an order, even if the Athosian is a civilian, and he’s off-duty. Before he’s fully outside, he turns, glances at his daughter - and adds, "Things’ll be sorted in no time."

* * *

The doors are rattling, slightly. It might almost be progress, except it isn’t and they’re stuck and are going to suffocate to death.

"Air might last longer if you’re quiet," Ronon says, and Rodney scowls darkly.

"Listen, we’re dying, I’ll talk how much I like!"

"We’re not dying."

"We’re dying," Rodney repeats, paling, "I wonder if John’s still in the labs? With Marie. They’re locked in there. It’s a bigger room. Air will last longer. There’s even a window - shit, John will probably break the window and attempt something stupid -"

"And you wouldn’t?"

"I wouldn’t! I’d do the sensible thing -"

Ronon doesn’t say anything, but his gaze clearly means _Liar._

* * *

Arms and legs trembling a little from the effort - jeez, he is out of shape - he is dragging himself up. He has a couple of minor scares on the way and this whole thing might be pretty cool; he would love to boast this later over a beer (and probably give Rodney an aneurysm), but for now he can just focus on pulling himself up, bit by bit - maybe he’d underestimated the sheer size of the tower.

Four floors is a whole damn lot.

Then, finally: the balcony. He manages to get a grip of the railing and his fingers hurt a bit, and he crawls up, over. Stumbles and falls onto the balcony floor, feeling the echoes of vertigo catching up. He’s a pilot, he’s never had issues with heights, but, damn. _New personal record,_ he thinks dimly. Then, after spending what feels like half an eternity breathing, he gets to his feet. He’s got to shut off that beacon before it’s too late -

There are no chairs here to throw around, but he finds a potted plant, and it’s not ten thousand years old and dead, but something the botany department has nourished with care. He’ll bear their disappointment later, he decides, as he breaks one of the narrower windows next to the locked doors.

"Colonel?" Chuck exclaims, shocked. "How did you get out there?!"

"Long story. We got to turn off the beacon, it’s broadcasting our location." Legs slightly unsteady, he hurriedly jogs over to one of the computers hooked up to the controls. There’s a program already up on the screen, having gotten to the subspace link but unable to shut it off; so they’d found it then.

"We’ve already tried that," Banks says, coming to his side. "It’s password protected."

He’s already typing. _Let this work..._

It does. There’s an exhale of relief, even if the doors are still locked, people trapped - they’re nowhere out of the woods yet.

But then that horribly familiar alarm starts blaring. The self-destruct. Half a second later, all the screens go dark. All systems just shut down. There’s no way to know how much time is even left - hours, minutes, seconds. They’re blinded.

"The outbreak," Banks realizes, eyes widening. "The city must think the quarantine was breached and now there’s a disease out of control."

"But there is no disease," says Chuck, confused.

"Yeah, but the city doesn’t know that," John says. Oh, crap. "Me coming into the room. That must’ve been it."

Banks nods. "It’s all part of the system-wide malfunction."

"So, blowing up the city is its final countermeasure," Chuck says worriedly. "What are we going to do?"

* * *

They can’t get in contact with Rodney or Carter or Lorne. All radios are down, and it’s not like they got access to walkies. But there are a few marines in the room; SGA-11 had been meaning to leave on a mission just minutes before the lockdown. And while they got no technical solutions to all of this, they do have weapons and some C4.

"That’s it?" John asks, and the Lieutenant looks apologetic.

"Yes, sir," Kemp says, shrugging. "We’re going to ’394, didn’t think we’d need to bring the big guns."

It’ll have to do.

* * *

They find Carter, Lorne, and Radek in an oxygen-deprived transporter, and the three of them nearly fall out of the tiny space, gasping for breath. Once she’s managed to regain some posture, Carter asks, "Did Rodney manage to shut off the self-destruct?"

"No, it’s still armed and we haven’t gotten contact with Rodney," John says. "There’s no outbreak, it’s a malfunction in the system."

"We know. About the malfunction," Radek manages to say in-between deep breaths, Lorne hovering nearby, a hand on his shoulder.

"I need to get to a workstation," Carter says.

Chuck shakes his head. "Computers are down. We have no idea how long until the self-destruct either."

"We’re trying to get to the power room so we could physically cut power to the self-destruct," John explains. "But all the doors are sealed shut and we’ve run out of C4."

"So we’re still stuck here?" Radek despairs, groaning. "What are we going to do now?"

* * *

"Does this vent go to the power room?" John asks nobody in particular, stepping onto one of the couches lining the wall to get a closer look. It’s a dark and enclosed space, but it doesn’t appear to be blocked from what he can see. Kemp lends him a flashlight.

"Yes, that should be tied to the tower’s main ventilation flow," Radek says. "But ventilation is down."

"No," Banks says, "we managed to get it online in most of the tower before the shutdown."

They all catch on the idea pretty much at the same time, a second or so later. Carter says, before John can say anything, "It could work, if someone could crawl the way."

John steps down. He knows already it won’t be him, there’s no way they’d let him. To the surprise of almost all of them, Radek steps forward. "I’ll do it."

"You sure?" It’s Lorne who asks first, clearly worried.

"Yes. I’m small enough, and I know the power room. I’ll have the power off in no time."

* * *

Then all they can do is wait for several long, agonizing minutes. The not knowing when the self-destruct might be set off isn’t the worst part. The uncertainly if Radek is even going to make it there in time, if at all, is worse.

* * *

They’ve fallen quiet, now. Most of the time. Sitting on the floor, drenched in their own sweat and breathing shallowly. Rodney almost wants to laugh at the irony of it. Here is is, about to die right in the middle of the city they’ve made their home, and all he’d planned for the day was lab work and eating and watching John building towers with Marie. She’s breaking her record with those, building taller ones every day. He might be babbling aloud, he realizes, but Ronon has long since stopped berating him for it. Instead the big guy is listening, patiently almost, and Rodney thinks about the team, about these people who have become family. Fitting he should die alongside one of them.

"We’re not gonna die."

"Shaddup."

"I refuse to die without fighting." The Satedan lifts his head, suddenly, and Rodney crosses his arms.

"That won’t happen, Conan." Because Ronon will kill him quicker than the lack of air will. Probably. Like swatting a fly, it’d be, the two of them in a last round. "Ever. Forget it."

"Sheppard would fight me."

"Because you’re both idiots," Rodney says. "Honestly? Like children. Having to poke at stuff and cause explosions. John’s a danger to himself all the time, and you make it worse most of the time."

Ronon smirks, all white gleaming teeth, dangerous and sharp. But it fades into something serious, and the alpha looks right at him. "You know I wouldn’t hurt him, right? Not for real."

"Sparring doesn’t count, I take it?"

"Sparring’s fun." _And necessary,_ is left unsaid.

"Exactly: fun. Like I said: children." Children. Oh, god. Marie. And their unborn baby - they’d had a scan taken just eight days ago, nailed it to the wall. Making it more real, somehow. Like a wave something wells up within him, and Rodney realizes, he wants to cry, a bit like when he was a kid, in a way he hasn’t since before he and Jeannie fell out, both of them so young.

"Hey," Ronon murmurs. "We’re not gonna die."

"You keep saying that -"

* * *

The lights go out. Then, fifteen seconds later, they’re online again and there’s a whine of air. Of fresh air, blessedly fresh and cool and it comes from above: the vents. The vents are active - which means ...

Rodney leaps to his feet, or at least crawls upward and he swipes a hand over the controls, and the doors open. The two of them more of less fall out. Once oxygen has returned to more manageable levels in his lungs, Rodney looks around, at the corridor they’re in, and groans like in pain. Ronon makes a curious noise. "What?"

"Mess hall’s the other side of the city. We’re still in the _wrong fucking tower_!"


	9. Chapter 9

After the unexpected chaos they’d endured when the city went into a sudden lockdown, everyone is on their toes. If their own city can turn so easily against them, how are they meant to sleep soundly at night? Except John feels at ease, even if the others don’t, he guesses he just knows Atlantis in a way the others cannot sense. He’s not at unrest because of the quarantine. No, he’s got other fishes to fry. Namely, Rodney, who still cannot let it go that John scaled four floors’ worth of tower, freely and on his own and pregnant and apparently, to a lot of people, that last bit equals ’weakened’. To Rodney the word has probably also become synonymous with _reckless._  

John isn’t sure exactly how Rodney found out about his little stunt, if he heard it from Chuck and the other people who’d been there in the Control room as he broke into it, or if Kanaan told him directly - somehow, he can’t really picture the quiet Athosian approaching Rodney on his on volition. Either way, within the same hour as catastrophe had been narrowly avoided, the lockdown finally lifting - and no ships approaching - Rodney finds found him in the lab, sitting on the floor oh so innocently playing with Marie, and the alpha takes one look at him and then inhales sharply, clearly in preparation to rant.

"Hey, Rodney," John says, nonchanantly, waving a hand.

"Did you _really_ climb the -"

"Just a little bit."

"John! Ohmygod that is, what, four floors up? Twenty, twenty five, thirty feet? And the tower’s practically vertical! Do you know how fucking _far_ down it’d be to fall, hundreds of feet to the water! - what if you’d slipped?! - you didn’t wear any kind of safety harness did you, of course not, _no,_ you wouldn’t have access to that and - _hey!_ you broke my window!"

"Room needed a fresh breeze."

"I leave you out of sight for half an hour and -"

"The beacon needed to be shut off," John explains, calmly. "I had the password, the guys upstairs evidently didn’t; yours, by the way. We really need to look over the city’s safety protocols."

"Who even _cares_ about safety protocols right now, you could have fallen to your _death_ you absolute, self-sacrificing, oxymoronic -!"

Out of the corner of his eye John spots movement; then Radek is peering into the lab with wide curious eyes. Rodney’s back is turned to him, the alpha not noticing the other scientist at all. The Czech stares; John quirks a grin, eyebrow lifting by a millimeter and he shrugs slightly, and the other omega then shakes his head, adjusts his glasses, and makes a hasty retreat. 

"- and I was stuck with Ronon and nearly suffocated to death and I was afraid of _exactly something like this happening_ , and you went and did it. Oh, god, it’s like having to babysit someone! Constant supervision! And Kanaan was in here with you and didn’t stop you?!"

"Hey! I take quite offence to that. And he might have tried to talk me out of it."

"And you didn’t listen!"

"The beacon, Rodney. It was advertising our position loud and clear. We’re lucky the Wraith or the Replicators didn’t pick it up!"

Rodney silences, still clearly annoyed and worried and then he sinks down in a nearby chair, looking like he’s torn between relief and wanting to pull out his hair. "This is stupid, we shouldn’t fight," he mutters at last.

"We’re not really fighting, Rodney," John amends. "More like - I’m sitting here, clearly 100% all right because I’m not an infirmary bed, and you’re yelling at me for trying to save the city. And succeeding, not just trying."

"The self-destruct set off because of you."

"Well we managed to stop it in time -"

Now Marie has had enough. They usually never fight or yell in front of her, even in the most low-key way, and now she drops her building blocks with loud clatter upon the floor. The girl then scrunches up her face, almost in concentration, and takes a deep breath which would make Rodney proud, and, with all the lung force she can muster (which is a lot) she breaks into a wailing cry, tears rolling down her cheeks.

John glares heatedly at the alpha, _now look what you did!,_ and Rodney cowers.

"I’ll, I’ll just. Be over there."

"No, you don’t _dare_ run away, Rodney," the omega murmurs, drawing her to his chest soothingly, _hey, it’s OK sweetheart we didn’t mean to be yelling like that -_

Carefully, the alpha kneels on the floor, wincing a little at how his back protests. He fights the urge to cover his ears. John is handling Marie with such guarded, gentle care, without hesitating, in a way that Rodney struggles to match. 

He hates fighting.

Eventually, Marie is calming down. The crying’s made her tired and she takes an impromptu nap in Rodney’s lap; it’s too early given her usual schedule, but being upset must’ve worn her out. John gently strokes back her hair from her forehead, kisses it quietly.

After a moment, Rodney murmurs, "Sorry."

And John says, "Me too."

* * *

Less than ten days after the whole quarantine incident, Teyla reminds them that Jinto’s Name Day is fast approaching; he’ll become an adult according to Athosian tradition this year. And John has promised the kid to be there. A promise like that has to be honoured.

Of course, Carter is reluctant to let him go off-world, even though this is to New Athos where it’s safe, but Teyla’s coming and she counts as an escort. Ronon’s caught a bug and is being _very_ morose about it. The Satedan’s got a pretty good immune system, but Keller reckons he’s caught an Earth based cold from someone else of the expedition and just had a pretty bad reaction. It’s not dangerous, they’ve assured him, but this morning the alpha could barely stand on his two feet. John has never seen him so ill or sour. Rodney hasn’t promised Jinto to come, so, in an unexpectedly selfless move, he promises to stay in the City and "keep an eye on the guy". Or more likely he’ll have to fight to keep Ronon resting. Kanaan, too, is feeling under the weather.  _Next time,_  he’d said.

If he hadn’t been bedridden Ronon would be coming too. Now it’s just John and Teyla, and Keller - she’s going to inoculate some kids, and do a general check-up on the Athosians - and it’s not a mission, just a friendly visit with a celebration to look forward to. It’s been awhile since he last saw Halling and the others.

They leave in the morning, knowing on New Athos it will be early afternoon; not until sunset will the real feasting begin. Carter and Lorne see them off, and John waves a hand before they walk through the event horizon, the three of them talking and smiling.

Nothing’s wrong.

* * *

Afterward he can’t remember, can’t retell exactly how it happened. It becomes a daze: a daze of sound, of movement, of running and breathing.

* * *

The village is in ruins. There are no fires burning, but there are tracks, fresh enough, in the mud. This happened a few days ago at most. There’s nothing alive - but there are no bodies either.

 _This can’t be happening._ John stares at the mess of former homes and lives. The day had begun so brightly, sharing breakfast in the mess hall, laughing at some joke. They’d served apple pie, and, in honour of Jinto’s day, one of the cooks had made a few extra portions to bring with them. On the other side, on New Athos, the air’s a little cold but they’d approached the village on foot, talking amicably -

But then they’d arrived to find only silence.

"Teyla?" John calls when she breaks into a run, and he abandons the bag he’d been carrying, dumping it next to the two Teyla had been holding for Keller.

The MD is looking around, confused. "Should it be this quiet?"

* * *

They’re not alone.

Not Athosians - they’re hiding in the underbrush, under the cover of the trees, when they spot movement and Teyla urges them to hide. John doesn’t question or hesitate. Whatever this is, Teyla has an inkling about it and it’s not good.

 _Bola Kai,_ she explains in a hushed whisper. _Different tribes - you can tell them apart by their facial markings. I have never come across them before, but I have heard stories of their ruthlessness. They attack travellers on the road, and whole villages sometimes, in the trail of Wraith cullings. They are scavengers._

They are also armed, heavily so, but with bows, with axes, with spears. Weapons and gear that appears collected from dozens of worlds over time, rough and uneven at the edges. Fits with their MO. It also brings to attention their own position: they’d abandoned their bags, most of which was medical supplies and food. They hadn’t thought to bring weapons. Even John had skipped his sidearm, and only brought a knife - dressed in plain clothes, well, a stripped-down BDU. But no vest, no ammo, no guns.

They’re outnumbered and outarmed, and the Bola Kai have surrounded the Stargate.

* * *

"What do we do?" Jennifer whispers. Afraid. This is one of her few times off-word. Last time she ended up trapped underground with Carter and Rodney; now this.

John shares a look with Teyla. "We need weapons to fight them. How do we get to the weapons cache?"

"It is some way from here. I know of a shelter, used for hunting - there are several. We could make camp there for the night."

He nods. They need someplace to lay low. They don’t know how many Bola Kai there are, but they seem to be a whole damn lot and they’ve cut them off from the Stargate. Eventually Atlantis will send backup, once night has passed into morning; they’re meant to check in, send a brief message, in about twenty hours. When they don’t, help will come.

* * *

Then Jennifer falls and dislocates her ankle, and after the mess of crossing a river in search of shelter, they’re ambushed: four Bola Kai, who must have been tracking them. Who know they’re here. John really, really wishes he had his gun now. He manages to get a blow to land, the attacker stumbling and falling. He finishes it quickly - slicing a throat - and it strikes him how he hasn’t been fighting human adversaries like this for a long time. 

It’s not like killing Wraith at all.

It takes only a minute; they’ve killed the three, or he and Teyla have, and the fourth tries to run - Teyla catches up. Fells him, suffocates him by pressing a harsh branch to his throat. It’s very clean and quiet; suddenly, one of them moves again, and John shifts, sensing the movement - a gasp of pain - one of the three they’d thought were dead isn’t.

"He’s still alive!" Jennifer murmurs.

The man is moving, meaning to attack or flee or cry out. Give away their position. John _reacts,_ grabs his knife - moves his arm in a graceful arc. Like putting down an animal. Not until he’s lowered his hand and Teyla returns, slightly out of breath, does he become aware of Jennifer staring at them like they’ve become total strangers.

Teyla sees what’s been done. "We cannot afford to take prisoners," she says to Keller, who’s all pale. Explaining.

"But, but we could’ve tied him up, left him in the woods..."

"Then the others would release him and allow him to rejoin the hunt," Teyla says, firmly. "I know it is difficult to accept, but the fewer there are of them, the higher are out chances of survival." She looks at the omega, who nods sharply.

"We have to keep moving," he says.

* * *

Just less than a few hundred meters from the hidden shelter, they stumble across an unfamiliar man who is clearly not Athosian or Bola Kai. He’s slowly bleeding out, and gasps in shocked surprise when they find him. Keller insists they have to treat him - she still has one medical bag on her back - but darkness is falling and out here in the open they’re vulnerable.

"Can he be moved?" John asks.

"No, I - possibly," the doc amends when she sees their drawn faces.

"Jennifer," Teyla says, and she sounds extremely calm. Too calm. The shock, the fury is still settling. Inside she must be roaring. Her people are missing and they don’t know how, why.

They might have been culled.

"I understand your wish to heal this man, but we cannot take more risks."

* * *

But Keller insists. And they relent, eventually - this man is no Bola Kai. He might have answers. Together they manage to carry him to the shelter; by the time they get there it’s dark, and alien cicadas are singing in choir. There are no weapons here, nor food supplies, but there’s a small stash of candles, and oil for a lamp, and the river is close enough to get water from. There are no blankets to keep out the cold, but it’s not winter yet and they’ve slept through worse things; not that they’ll be sleeping much tonight, John thinks. And Keller hasn’t been through anything like this before. She seems more collected now, but maybe because she can focus on tending to the stranger.

As the doctor works on keeping the unconscious man alive, John joins Teyla by the edge of the shelter. They keep only a tiny slither of it open, letting the natural overgrowth cover the glow from the candlelight. They dare not light a fire; the smoke would attract anybody seeing it. She’s just come back from laying traps around the perimeter.

"Hey," he murmurs.

"John."

Her voice is even, smooth. She must be confused and hurting and grieving. Her people are gone, their village in ruins - John can’t offer comforts or promises. He also knows they’ve got to focus on surviving. Once they’re back in Atlantis, they can starting figuring a way to get the Athosians back. To find out what’s happened. If this is a the results of a Culling...

_(It’s irreversible.)_

Silence is soothing, for now.

Suddenly, Teyla tenses and John fears an enemy, until - _aha_. Something moving in the ground, burrowing in the mossy soil, far too small to be a human. Slowly, Teyla reaches for the long stick they’ve fashioned into a makeshift spear by whittling the end of it into a sharp point. She stands, and doesn’t miss. What she pulls up is something like a squid, except earth-bound.

"What is _that_?" Jennifer asks, obviously rather disgusted.

But Teyla smiles a little, her first smile since all this started. "Dinner." She’s rapidly starting to cut it open, and John is sharply reminded that they’ve been here for hours and haven’t eaten since breakfast. Morning sickness rarely strikes him anymore, certainly not anytime like this, but the sudden smell of raw meat causes his belly to turn, and he retches into the bushes right outside the shelter.

Keller’s with him, in a flash, and he feels momentarily overcrowded. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he manages to reply when he feels a little human again. He accept the water flask gratefully, cleansing his mouth. "Ugh. Thanks, doc."

"I almost forgot," the doctor murmurs, causing him to frown. She laughs a little nervously. "It’s just - when you and Teyla fought those people ... I completely forgot about the baby. I’m a doctor; I shouldn’t forget things like that."

"Hey, it’s all right. Anyone’d forget in this kind of situation." He looks at her, squints. Dishevelled and with dirt in her hair, Keller doesn’t belong out here in the wild. She has no kind of survival training. "How’s the ankle?"

She shrugs. "The swelling is not too bad," she says, quietly. "Pain’s eased up thanks to the painkillers."

"Guess this wasn’t how you’d planned to spend the night."

"No," she murmurs. "Not at all."

Back in the shelter, Teyla is splitting the creature into equal parts and she makes offerings. John isn’t sure he wants to know, exactly, what that thing is or where it’s been. "The taste leaves much to be desired, but it will sustain you," the alpha explains, when Keller looks very doubtful; and John is too, but he is very hungry, now that his stomach has stopped heaving. He takes some of it and Teyla is right, it’s exactly like when people say _it tastes like chicken_. He chews and swallows, trying not to think about it. When Keller doesn’t move, Teyla insists, "You should eat. You need your strength."

But then the stranger stirs.

* * *

His name, he says, is Nabel Golan. And he tries to say he’s Athosian but he’s lying, Teyla has never seen this man in her life and she knows every villager’s face: no, this man is a liar.

And a Genii spy, he says. Planted here just a few days ago, to gather intel - and it doesn’t take a genius to make the leap that this is another lie - the Genii are no longer their enemy, even if they don’t really like them. Things changed when Ladon Radim took control. So this man is someone else entirely, but he refuses to say. Instead he looks at them, sweepingly, weakly.

"What happened to my people?"

"Dead. All of them ... I saw the attack. The Wraith came. Culled them all. I ... I managed to hide, but, but then the Bola Kai came. Took me prisoner."

"But you managed to escape?" John asks. Not too gently. This man, whoever he really is, is some kind of spy and doesn’t deserve gentleness. His gut instincts yelling at him: this guy is a _liar,_ probably some kind of thief.

"Y-yes, but I was wounded." As they can see. He’s still bleeding out, just more slowly now. "The Bola Kai ... were the ones who told the Wraith...to come to this planet."

A hissing breath. Teyla moves, stands up. John lets her walk away. She needs time and space to grieve - they don’t have that. Instead, John looks down at the man - their prisoner, more or less. He wouldn’t call him an ally. As if noticing him for the first time,the guy looks at the omega, at his clothes. Clearly not Athosian by design, similar to and yet different from the medical uniform which Keller is wearing. John shifts a little, moving so that the guy cannot see the Ancient scanner in his hands - detecting no lifesigns nearby at the moment other than them.

"Where are you from?" the man asks. Frowning. There’s something about the look in his eyes, though, which John certainly doesn’t trust and he thinks Keller doesn’t either. "You aren’t...aren’t Athosian."

"No, you’re right," John says smoothly. "We’re from a place called, uhm, Tatooine."

"Never heard...of such a planet."

"Wouldn’t have. It’s very far, far away. Kinda isolated."

"If you are trying to gather more intel," Teyla says, approaching suddenly, her pulse more back to normal, but her words hard: "you are wasting what few breaths you have left. So say ’thank you for saving me’, and be done with this discussion."

The man does, in a whisper, and falls back asleep.

* * *

Teyla takes first watch; John offers to take second. He rests on his side, back against the wooden shelter, facing one of the lanterns. It takes a while to fall asleep, but this place is pretty comfortable, actually, once seeing past the cold air, the lack of a blanket, and the bloodthirsty people hunting them somewhere in the woods outside. He’s slept in much worse places, in much worse times. He can ignore a lot of input; and he falls asleep, eventually, gaze fixed on the burning lantern until his eyes slide shut on their on volition.

He wakes up abruptly, with a gasp. Like from a nightmare, except he can’t remember dreaming. A hand is on his shoulder, too warm for comfort, and Teyla’s face swims into vision. "I’m sorry for waking you, John, but half the night has passed."

Pulling himself up, he tries stretching his arms a bit. All of him feels stiff. His toes are cold. "Thanks. Get some rest, Teyla."

"I will try."

They swap places with the efficient grace born from countless missions together. He notices that Keller is sitting with her knees drawn up, staring at nothing in particular. She looks tired and wide-awake, and startles like a deer caught in the headlights when sensing their movements.

"Haven’t slept, doc?" John murmurs, and gets only a shake of head in reply.

The rest of the night passes in silence.

* * *

"You have not slept all night."

All that’s keeping her upright is adrenaline, John is certain; once the shock settles, Jennifer’s going to drop, exhausted. And John understands, he does, she’s just an MD, she’s not like them. But she’s refusing to eat now - he would too, if they had any powerbars with them. He usually carries them in his vest. Usually, Rodney eats them before he gets the chance to.

She shakes her head when offered a piece of what’s left of the earth-squid-creature - Teyla calls it an _uanar._ "I’m starving but not _that_ starving."

"It will give you strength."

"It’ll make me puke."

John considers. "Look, doc, I know it’s difficult, different from what you’re used to but you’re a doctor. You know what happens when you don’t eat. And as you said, we got a bunch of guys out there dead set on hunting us down and kill us. You can’t run if your blood sugar drops to nothing." And the fact is, at this point, he’s ready take that if Keller isn’t. She’s not the pregnant one.

Teyla quirks a slight smile. "You do not believe you are capable of eating it, and so you do not."

"No, I think it’s _disgusting._ So I do not."

"Hey," John cuts in, "if you aren’t eating that -" He makes a vague motion with his hand, and Teyla hands the knife with the offending object over.

The MD clears her throat. "Should you really...?"

"Yes, I should," he answers evenly though it does really taste nothing like chicken. He’ll thank himself later, though, when he doesn’t grow irritable or lethargic because of hunger. And somewhere along the line, Keller does relent, sees reason. Tries it. Teyla spurs her on, talking about accepting new challenges, and John listens in just really glad he’s not experiencing any more sickness. They sit there, sharing this cold slightly miserable breakfast. Their prisoner - or patient, or whatever to call the man - is still unconscious.

It’s been over twenty hours now. Atlantis should be starting to wonder why they haven’t checked in yet. By now they should be reporting back news about the Athosians, about a great feast to celebrate Jinto, about laughter and joy and a slice of carefree life -

Instead they can’t even be certain of how to make it through the Stargate alive.

* * *

Then the screaming starts. One of the Bola Kai must’ve gotten stuck in one of the hunting traps - some of those things could bring down game the size of bears. Howls of pain echo through the forest. They’ve run out of time.

Food is left forgotten. They gather what they can of their supplies in the backpack, again, and then run - even the injured man, who shouldn’t be able to stand on his own, manages to wobble along, John supporting his weight. Keller would have if not for her ankle, and Teyla is still adamant they leave the guy behind. John is torn, wanting to agree with her, it’s the logical thing to do but Keller is from Earth like him and he understands too well her way of thinking. What if the man is innocent? What if he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time? Leaving him behind would equal murder.

And they’re stuck a crossroads, arguing - and there they’re overtaken. John grabs his knife in one hand, itching to have his gun - they’d found the weapons cache empty - someone else took them and they have nothing to defend themselves. They’re rapidly surrounded. Five, ten. Too many.

Somewhere in the chaos, Nabel manages to escape.

The Bola Kai are strong and savage, he can hear them, smell their motions outside; Keller’s whimpering, in pain and fear, and Teyla is fighting all she can but they hit her over the side of her head, and she falls to the ground limply. They’re muttering and shouting amongst each other, and in the chaos of mass they’re surrounded and taken down, and when Teyla falls, and they have Jennifer in a deadlock, John has no choice but to put down the knife.

* * *

Their tribe leader is an alpha with bulging arms and an axe resting in his hands, sharp and silent. John peers out from the gloom of their handwoven cage - clearly made here on the spot, out of wood and rope and leather - tries to judge their numbers. Many, too many. A few dozen, armed with axes and sword and spears and other such primitive weapons. It makes sense from what Teyla’s told them about their nature. _Scavengers._ They move around the perimeter in a messy fashion, no orderly lines anywhere, no apparent system of guards that he can make out - though, does it matter? One thing is clear: these people aren’t interested in knowing who they are, only, perhaps, where they came from so they can go there. They want to find that world, from where they got their gear, to plunder it. There’ll be some form of interrogation, John wagers, brutal and hopefully swift, and then they’ll kill them.

Jennifer’s trembling. She’s not meant to be here. Teyla murmurs comforts like white lies, _You will get out of here,_ but John catches her gaze. For once Teyla is uncertain, very uncertain, of their fate.

It’s been well over a day now. Atlantis will send backup, any minute now, figuring something is wrong. A failed checkup always means trouble: even if the Athosians had greeted them with a feast, which they would have, they wouldn’t have become so drunk and elated to forget their checkup.

_Any time now._

They’re being pulled out, now, one by one and dragged to one of the large tents where once the Athosians lived. It’s the biggest one, meant for a leader - Halling and his family used to live here, and John has been here before, sat under this roof and dined and laughed. Now it’s full of strangers, and they’re forced to their knees in front of the tribe leader. The alpha looks at them quietly, smirking showing a row of uneven darkened teeth, and in the dim light of the open fire the man appears to be a beast, an animal. He stalks forward. Grabs Teyla’s chin, forcing her to look up. Nostrils flaring: clearly identifying them all, and going for the alpha first. Assuming she’s the tribe leader. Her face is covered in blooming bruises, as will the rest of her body soon be. John’s body is aching. A cut on his forehead - he can’t remember getting it. In the fight in the clearing - they’d danced, he and Teyla, trying to fight off their attackers but they were just so many and he’s already getting out of shape and they had no guns.

The alpha has a very ugly face, John notes, pale except for the coal black markings drawn on it, and a big mouth which stinks when the man inspects them, leans close. There’s the Ancient scanner in his hand, taken from their bags, and he’s looking at it perplexed.

"Who are you?"

"I am Athosian," Teyla says, evenly, quietly. Speaking for the three of them in this case. They can’t reveal anything about Atlantis, they all know; the slightest hint of a great city somewhere out there, and the Bola Kai will want to take it too. Conquer it. Well, they’d be in for quite a surprise, John thinks. But these people, savage as they are, are also human, therefore at least one among them will be clever enough to realize that, if Atlantis is mentioned, they’ll try to pry for more information and if one of them breaks, mentions IDCs and shields lowering - Atlantis will be vulnerable to attack.

"I don’t believe you."

"I do not care what you believe."

The alpha doesn’t say anything, but gives Teyla a heavy backhand and she follows the motion, expecting it by a millisecond. But she makes no sound of pain, even though she might’ve broken a cheekbone, bust a tooth. Next to him, John feels Jennifer’s trembling breaths, and wishes he could calm her somehow. She’s just an MD. She’s not mean to be here, in a situation like this - she has no idea how to deal with it.

He hopes they move onto him next, not her.

The alpha glares at the omega and the beta, at their silence. "The longer you are silent, the worse it will be for you."

Jennifer’s biting her lip, almost breaking it, she’s trying not to scream or cry - then she closes her eyes, swallows. Takes a breath. John shifts - he’s already tried fighting against the bonds, but they’re tied tightly, numbing away his hands. "You know you’ve got a very ugly face. Is kinda distracting. Ever thought about plastic surgery?"

He expects the blow; welcomes it, even. It means the alpha’s shifting his attention from Keller -

"I told you, we are Athosian," Teyla repeats, while John discretely spits blood from his mouth. "And you’ll suffer for what you have done to our people!"

"What we’ve done?" the scavenger says.

"You murdered them, _an entire village_!" Her voice is rage, a tempest. "They were Culled by the Wraith because you brought them here, _Worshipper!"_

The alpha just shakes his head. As if these accusations mean nothing. They probably do: the three of them are the prisoners, not the other way around. "The village was deserted when we arrived. The Wraith hunt us all!"

And John thinks about the guy they’d found, whom Keller had tended to with their meagre supplies - about what he’d whispered, being a Genii spy, gathering intel - the Hive ship - that the Bola Kai are Worshippers having sent the Wraith here. Something about the story doesn’t make sense. Why would they believe a Genii spy?

When Teyla shouts, accusingly, furiously that the Bola Kai are Worshipers, he hits her hard enough for Teyla to fall. She doesn’t stir, and John tries to surge to his feet instinctively - "Teyla!" But one of the Bola Kai grabs his shoulders, wrenches him back onto the ground.

The alpha tosses the Ancient scanner aside. "We’ve claimed this village now, what’s left of it. Including you. Now you’ll tell me who you are."

John bites back a growl. "Athosians." He’ll repeat it forever if he has to.

The alpha crouches down in front of them, their pale faces. Looks at Keller, the tears in her eyes, though she is holding herself together well, John thinks, considering. Her gaze waves; but John meets those cold eyes head on like saying fight me. He’s not afraid; there is a strange detachment. Just a month ago he was being interrogated by the Travelers, beaten and he was forced to endure hearing Marie screaming and crying - now, now there’s only the silence of the trees outside. Keller, while his responsibility, isn’t a child incapable of defending herself. When the alpha’s upper lip curls, John almost smirks, _Yes, get angry with me, not them, you ugly fucker._

"Who. are. you?"

"Athosians."

"Let me tell you something: we’re not," the man says. "We’re Bola Kai." And there’s the echo of a chant from the other men inside and outside the tent: like a war cry, gathering them. _Scavengers,_ Teyla had explained in hushed whispers, _thieves and murderers, rapists and liars. They go from world to world, leaving nothing but destruction and death in their wake._ "And you are ours now."

Jennifer’s breath is ragged. She shouldn’t speak, but she hasn’t been trained to know that - "Are you going to ... to kill us?"

"Oh, yes. But not without playing first."

And the doc is still naive enough not to comprehend, but John has been to war zones and he’s seen things and he _knows._ He understands. He glances at her, and at Teyla’s unconscious form. Wonders which one they’ll pick first. Teyla is a woman, but she’s alpha, that gives her certain protection, however slight - most alphas would have a sense of distaste, not desire, in the face of other alphas, regarding them as competition - Keller’s a beta woman, and he’s omega, and he’s pretty sure they can tell he’s pregnant. He’s been lucky this far in that he’s taken no direct hits in his abdominal area in the fighting, but now they’re tied up and on their knees. Yes, they’ll turn to him and Keller first, and Teyla last. Perhaps, when she comes around, make her watch their torture.

 _Any time now,_ John pleads. _They can send that backup any time now ..._

* * *

After what feels like half an age, but must have been only a few tense seconds, they’re forced to move. And the two Bola Kai minions in the tend grab Teyla, unceremoniously dragging her like a heavy lump of wood out of the tent. It leaves him and Jennifer, in quiet distress, and the alpha, and hands reaching out; and he struggles - oh, he _struggles_ and feels the alpha chuckle darkly, _You’re a fierce thing. You’ve got fire._

Jennifer is crying out, muffled in the dark. "Please, let us go!"

"Then tell me who you are," the alpha says.

John tries to remember everything he’s learned from Teyla and Ronon, hundreds of hours of sparring - what he remembers from training on Earth - and forces his body to relax. To engage only the muscles he needs. His hands are tied, he’s got to be swift, this guy is taller and twice as heavy. He’s talking to Keller in a frighteningly calm voice, asking questions and it’s clear from the way he moves that the alpha means to mount him, right here in front of her. To make them talk. _Not without playing first,_  he’d said -

And John snaps into motion. When he’d started relaxing, the alpha’s grip had slackened a little, believing he’s giving up. Giving in. But then the omega rapidly starts moving, slips out of his grip. Somehow they end up wrestling on the ground and Keller’s shouting, voice frozen, and John rolls the two of them around and over. Manages to get his legs free. Secures a grip around the alpha’s throat; his wrists are probably bleeding from the strain, but he can’t feel the pain. The alpha’s starting to move erratically, as if in a panic realizing he’s no longer in control. Using his legs and gravity to force the man’s arms down, away, John shifts his grip of the man’s throat, settles his elbow right by the neck, and _tugs._

With a sharply resounding crack, the neck breaks. Cleanly. The alpha ceases to struggle. By some small miracle he hadn’t screamed, merely wheezed out sharp breaths - maybe too overwhelmed by surprise to do anything but breathe until he couldn’t anymore - and John is glad for it. It buys them some time.

John exhales, and lets the body go. All noise comes rushing back again, like a wave, and abruptly he realizes they have to get out of here. The tribe leader’s dead and they’ve got to get out of here before the rest of them notice -

He looks at Keller, who’s staring at him open-mouthed. A scream resting on her lips, all quiet, no noise actually managing to escape her throat. He manages, somehow, to get to his feet and to her side. Hushes her. Got to stay quiet. "Keller, it’s gonna be OK, we’ll get out of here. Listen, doc, I need you to untie my hands."

She’s trembling, tries to do as he says but her fingers keep slipping. Instead they look around and find a knife in the alpha’s belt. Jennifer pulls it out trying not to look at the dead man’s face. With the knife it’s easier, and once his hands are free, wrists all bloody, he quickly helps her out of her bonds.

"Teyla," Jennifer murmurs, the initial shock beginning to die. Her pulse is still erratic. "We got to help her."

"They probably dragged her back to the cage." It’s in the middle of the ruined village, surrounded by Bola Kai. They need backup, but the Gate is probably still heavily guarded.

* * *

And that’s when the cry comes: "Chief! Chief! There’s someone by the Portal, there’s a flying ship but it _disappeared_ -"

The voice is nearing the tent, and John grabs Keller’s wrist, drags them backward. There’s a second, private chamber beyond the first, and if he remembers the layout of the village correctly, this wall should be facing toward the woods - hopefully with less Bola Kai on the other side. Cutting the canvas with the knife and ripping the rest of the way - and attempting silence - they manage to crawl outside, into the cold autumn sun. Jennifer stumbles, her ankle still hurting, but John urges her onward. Not too soon do they reach the forest edge.

Now what? Shit, they still got Teyla -

But, a ship. A ship. Atlantis. A Jumper. They need their gear, a radio, to signal where they are.

John glances back toward the village, hiding in the underbrush. There’s movement, a lot of noise. An alarm. They’ve found the body. He tries to remember where exactly they’d gotten that glimpse of their stolen gear, Keller’s medical bags unpacked, their radios. Then he motions at the doc to lay low and be quiet, before remembering she doesn’t know these military gestures. "You’ve got to stay here, doc. Anyone approaches, _run."_

"But, but you can’t -"

"We need a radio. I’m guessing a Jumper just came through and are probably cloaked - they’ll circle around and find the village like this and figure out pretty quick that we need help. We need to contact them."

"I’m coming with you."

"Doc -"

"No, you listen to me. You’re three months pregnant, and you only have a knife. There are dozens of Bola Kai out there!"

John bites back a sigh. "Knew I should’ve taken that axe of his instead."

* * *

A gunshot: not a nine-mill, though, nor a P-90. John can’t recognize the sound off-hand, that that makes him suspicious. He tries to order Keller to stay put but she won’t listen - she’s really stubborn, he’s come to understand, when she puts her mind to something. So they’re circling around, approaching the village from the south, when suddenly there’s Teyla, and the man they’d rescued earlier. A gun of unknown design - Genii? - rests in his hand. Teyla’s hands are still bound, but she says that Nabel freed her, using a gun he’d hidden before the Bola Kai arrived, a secret stash.

They run for the woods, the odd four of them - or try to run, best as they can. Keller’s ankle must be hurting but she’s riding on adrenaline now. With only one knife and now a gun between them, they’re no match for the Bola Kai.

But then, the guy is turning on them. Aiming his gun at them. Teyla’s hands are still bound, and Nabel has slammed her to the ground and points the gun at Keller - "Don’t move!" - and John freezes in mid-step.

_The hell?_

"Take it easy," John says, fist clenched tight around the knife. "Don’t do anything stupid."

Keller says, "Please, let us go."

"No," Nabel sneers. "I have far too many questions that need answers to. You can start by giving me the Gate address to Atlantis."

_A spy. A spy working for whom, though?_

John considers the knife. A throw - but he’s got to be quick. Precise. The guy’s finger is resting on the trigger, and Teyla has seen that gun in action. It shoots bullets, hard ammo, not just energy like smoke. A millisecond too slow and the guy will shoot Keller, possibly killing her on the spot. Can he risk that? "Listen, Nabel," he implores. "You let us go, we let you go, everybody lives. Don’t do anything stupid."

"Just give me the address and I’ll let you go, I promise."

Keller’s pale face hardens. She looks at the man’s abdomen smeared with blood. "I see you’re not as badly wounded as I thought."

"I am; I just have a high tolerance for pain.Now, _the address_ and I’ll let you go! All of you."

"You’re lying."

She’s distracting him, John realizes. Even thought she might not be aware of it. Buying time, trying to. While she talks, John starts to move very, very slowly. Pulling his arm back a little. Getting ready for the throw.

"You’re not Genii, are you? We have an understanding with them. They wouldn’t need to resort to these tactics to in order to contact us."

"All right, so that part wasn’t true. But I was captured by the Bola Kai."

"You’re the Wraith Worshipper. You are the one responsible for the death of the Athosians."

A grin. "Unless I lied about that too."

On the ground, Teyla gasps. _"They’re alive?"_

"Give me the Gate address and I’ll gladly tell you everything."

John moves.

Two things happen: the movement is detected, and the guy starts to turn, angling the gun toward him. And Teyla moves, kicking out with her leg sharply causing the man to fall, just as the trigger’s pulled, the sound like thunder scaring away the wildlife. It is also a beacon to anything out there, both the Bola Kai and a possible rescue. The bullet cuts through the air, grazes his arm, and John stumbles with a cry of surprise rather than pain, dropping the knife. And Jennifer leaps at the man, wresting the gun out of his hands. Putting just some pressure on his wound to keep him down long enough.

Because that’s the thing with doctors. They know how to put a body back together; therefore they know how to take it apart.

Once she’s got the gun and is pointing it at him, Nabel just smirks. "You won’t do it. You don’t have it in you. You’re a healer, a doctor, not a killer."

"You’re right. I am a healer. But first I need something to heal."

* * *

If the two gunshots didn’t attract attention, the wails and shouts of pain certainly do. Jennifer’s kneeling in the dirt, helping Teyla to get her hands free, and John has grabbed the gun, and then an axe flies through the air landing in a nearby tree, dangerously close. They’ve been found.

_Where the hell is that Jumper?!_

And, finally: the blessedly familiar echo of P-90 fire, and the blasts of red energy from Ronon’s particle magnum. Ronon shouldn’t be here, John thinks distantly, with an odd sense of detachment - Ronon couldn’t even walk properly this morning. But the Bola Kai begin to fall, one by one, and marines pour into the glade. Lorne and his team, plus Rodney and the Satedan Specialist. John breathes a sigh of relief, joining the fray and together they manage to drive the Bola Kai off long enough to make a run for the Gate.

In the confusion - perhaps because of it - Nabel manages to escape yet again. The only person who might have answers to what’s happened.

Teyla’s people are all gone.

* * *

Not until they’re back in the Jumper does reality sink in, like hitting a soundwall. They make a rapid retreat through the Gate; they’d been chased by arrows all the way. And finally they can sink down and breathe. Teyla is silent, staring at the grated floor of the ship. Lorne is flying, but Coughlin and Ferrel and Ronon are there, almost creating a wall. John wipes the sweat from his brow with the back his hand, then realizes both of them are covered in blood. Rodney’s babbling, tone tense, almost hysterical. Someone grabs his arms, right above the wrists, to hold them still and John instinctively draws back, ready to fight -

"Hey! Sorry," Rodney mutters. "Don’t hit me!"

Still riding on adrenaline. Fight-or-flight. God. John barely notices the transition through the Stargate, only a slight change of light and then they’re rising upward, not forward, to settle in the hangar bay.

By his left side, Jennifer is trying to give directions to Ronon on how to bandage wounds. John doesn’t really understand why, until there’s a stinging sensation to his arm - oh, right. The gunshot. Bullet went right through, grazed the skin and the muscle just barely. He hadn’t really registered the pain, until now: it’s just been a lot of ... noise.

"You all right?" Rodney’s asking, and so are the others. Asking him and Teyla and Jennifer, and he looks at them like seeking answers.

_No, we’re not._

"The Athosians..." he murmurs instead.

"Yes, what’s happened, where are they? Because we saw the village -"

"They’re gone," Teyla answers, emptily, sharply. "My people are gone."


	10. Chapter 10

"There is a people," Teyla tells them on a sunny afternoon: "whom I have heard stories about. A people led by a man named Davos, and he is said to be a Seer. Rumours has it he can even glimpse the future."

Rodney - immediately and without surprising anybody - makes a rude noise, but John sends him a sharp look. This isn’t the time. And this isn’t about Rodney. This is about Teyla and her people, about the possibilities of hope. It’s been nearly a month, now, since their disappearance. Things have changed: the blow of their loss hit very hard, but Teyla remains very stoic, albeit quieter than usual. She doesn’t smile much at all nowadays. Kanaan is all she’s got, like remnants, and the two are often seen together in solitude, speaking softly, and no one would dare to intrude.

"I understand your skepticism, Rodney; even among my own people much of the stories were not widely believed. But I need to know for myself." She turns to Carter, imploringly. "If there is the slightest hope that Davos might be able to give me answers about my people, I need to find him. I must know what happened to my people."

Carter looks doubtful, in the way scientists are in the face of such statements, but she has been with the SGC for a long time and seen a lot of improbable things.

"It has been several weeks, and our usual means of investigations have turned up nothing."

Nothing useful has been found by the forensics team on New Athos; and there is a dwindling of activities. Days have turned into weeks. Most traces have disappeared with time and rain and wind. If the Wraith came and took them by ship, there might not be anything to find at all.

But they will not stop looking; they won’t kill Teyla’s hopes until they find bodies. John has already promised her and Kanaan that: _we won’t stop looking until we find them._

* * *

Merely an hour after watching SGA-1 leave, Lorne leading them, John is called back to the Gate room in order to be there alongside Carter greeting one of the IOA. It’s time for her performance evaluation, and John does not envy her; but at least she isn’t being recalled to be grilled an interrogation room for hours upon hours. And the guy they’re sending isn’t that complete ass which was Coolidge, an alpha with tendencies to sneer at anybody happening to be breathing. Mr Woolsey might be annoying, and too busy reciting protocol to live, but ever since they saved him and O’Neill during the Replicator attack, reclaiming the city, he’s been remarkably compliant and much more willing to support Atlantis.

The guy walks through the Gate alone and unarmed, carrying only a small black bag and an important portfolio. John stands back, carrying Marie on his shoulders ( _"Flying Jumper!"_ as she calls it), letting Carter do the necessary small talk; there’s no need for introductions after what happened with the Replicators. Woolsey’s talkative (and just a bit distracted by Marie’s presence, as if he has never seen a child before in his life), acting just as John remembers the guy; he is remarking how important Midway is, and that he is only here to obeserve not to poke his nose into things though he is in fact a busy-body, and Sam nods along sufferingly while John doesn’t listen at all. He wonders how it’s going for his team, if they’ve actually met this Davos figure yet, or if it’s just a tell-tale. Given the record, though, he’s ready to bet his money that there is _something_ about this guy.

Then, before he manages to leave, Chuck calls out:

"Unscheduled off-world activation!"

John is back by the controls in a second. "Who is it?"

"Receiving IDC. It’s Captain Robins on M2R-441. They’re transmitting, radio-only."

They’d left just a few hours ago, delivering humanitarian aid to the survivors of a settlement there. There have been too many cullings as of late; this was just one of thousands, one of the few they could actually find in time to offer help to rebuild. They’re no due to check in for another two hours, so something’s got to be wrong.

"Captain," Carter says, "this is Colonel Carter. Please report."

Robins’ answer is crisp and laced with that kind of doubtful confusion where he probably isn’t believing what he’s saying: _"We have a bit of a development here, Colonel. Is Colonel Sheppard there with you?"_

"Yeah, I’m here," John says. "Let’s hear it, Captain."

_"We’ve distributed the medical supplies and started getting them on track of rebuilding again. After a while we were approached by some of their village Elders, and according to them a few days after the culling another Hive arrived. But they didn’t cull or hurt anybody, and a single Dart landed with a Wraith; said he has a message for you, sir."_

"Me, Captain?" Wait, could that be the same Wraith ...

(The dark cold cell, Kolya, the hand pressing on his chest -)

John shivers, forcefully pushing those memories away.

 _"Yes, sir,"_  Captain Robins affirms. _"Apparently this Wraith wants to meet with you."_

* * *

The Wraith had given a message and a Stargate address, all in good faith. They send a MALP: there’s nothing to indicate civilization right away, but the Stargate on that planet appears to be set in the middle of a dim glade, and it’s rather dark as they dial. There are no energy signatures revealing the presence of advanced weaponry or ships, though, which means that at least there are no Replicators here, nor any Wraith facilities as far as they can tell. It can still be a trap. Carter sends a recon team led by Lieutenant Kemp and they return, roughly two hours later, and they give a clear description of an uninhabited planet - at least as far as they can tell without employing the Daedalus to do a full scan - deeply forested and with a constant overhang of fog, and a short walk from the Gate there’s the ruins of an old temple or castle or whatever it may have been. Right now there’s nothing alive there. They’d found no evidence of Wraith devices.

And that same description - with only minor alterations - is what Rodney brings back when SGA-1 returns.

"I had a visions. I mean, this Davos - he gave me one," he says, and John frowns.

"I thought you said you didn’t believe in visions? That it’s impossible to predict the future?"

"Well, I don’t. Didn’t," the alpha insists. "It _is_ impossible to predict the future."

Teyla fills in: "Davos definitely showed Rodney a vision, it is the only thing it could have been."

"So he can really see the future?"

"Well, no! No, although quantum uncertainty doesn’t necessarily preclude the _possibility_ of seeing probable futures -"

Carter clears her throat. "The thing is, Rodney, when you were gone we were contacted by Captain Robins on M2R-441. A Wraith showed up a few days ago, leaving a message for Colonel Sheppard, apparently wanting to meet to discuss something of ’great importance’. The Wraith left an address as a suggested rendezvous point and the interesting thing is, it sound a whole lot like the planet in your vision."

"Full of ruins; foggy, forest-y," John adds. "Though the recon didn’t find evidence of any Wraith present. Based on his facial markings, we think it’s the same Wraith who ... well, that thing with the Genii last year."

Rodney’s jaw drops. "You mean the one who - Oh."

"So we’re believing this now?" Ronon asks, inclining Rodney, no doubt meaning the visions and the whole thing with Davos.

"Davos did know we were coming," Teyla adds, her opinion clear. And John wants to believe with her, he does, to give her some kind of hope of finding her people - if they don’t, it’ll be just her and Kanaan left. Shadows of what once was. They don’t deserve that faith. But John isn’t sure if he can believe, either, just like Rodney; how could the future be so set in stone someone could see it? "He knew our names."

"Did you ask him about the Athosians?" Carter wonders, but the other alpha shakes her head sadly.

"No. After showing Dr McKay his vision, he fell ill. His daughter hoped we could offer some aid to relieve him."

Sam nods. "I’ll send Dr Keller."

"In the meantime, there’s only one way to know for sure if he’s right," John says. "Go to the rendezvous, check it out." Carter nods; but someone else is clearing their throat.

"Wait a minute," Woolsey cuts in, breaking their hopes that he might be silently observing this whole thing without trying to interfere for at least five minutes. "What you saw was clearly an ambush, and now you’re talking about deliberately walking right into it?!"

" _Exactly_."

* * *

Because the Wraith don’t know they’ve already seen it happen once. As the team assembles, John has a brief discussion with Carter. After all, he’s the guy with whom the Wraith wants to discuss whatever it knows or wants - and John seriously doubts it’ll tell anybody else. Send only strange faces in greeting, and the Wraith might choose to kill them out of spite. This way, well, they will appear to be agreeing on the Wraith’s terms. Lure it into a sense of security. Not that they’ll go unarmed, even though asked, but still. Plus, with his team on the ground, the Wraith will be focused on them and not suspecting any backup.

"It doesn’t sit well with me," Carter admits, even when beginning to relent.

John inclines his head, understanding her worries but he won’t have anybody else out there in his stead. He doubts the Wraith will have a problem killing them it if feels like it’s been tricked. "Have Lorne and Miller in a Jumper each, covering us, then. We’ll be in full gear."

"All right, but this does not mean you’re on active duty again." She gives him a look, simply to deter any ideas, and John tries to look innocent.

"Yes, ma’am."

* * *

The Wraith doesn’t appear as ragged as when they’d been held prisoner together in Kolya’s bunker so many months earlier, though the tangled mass of grey hair surely wouldn’t suffer if it ever came in contact with a comb. His faithful guards and spotless black leather robes marks him as someone rather important, not just a mindless Wraith blade among thousands of others. He walks toward then with empty hands, no weapon in sight, very calm; the drones around them don’t fire but keep their stunners trained on the humans, and they hold their aim likewise.

“You were supposed to come unarmed,” the Wraith remarks, a peculiar tilt to the words - there isn’t merely the icy smugness of a predator taking his time talking to his prey before devouring it.

John gives the Wraith his trademark grin, shrugging, his eyes glinting a warning, _one wrong step and I’ll shoot_. In response the Wraith inclines his head without flinching, getting down to business with that hint of amusement which John hasn’t truly understood because he’s never met a Wraith showing any kind of signs of having a sense of humour, but this one is rather different. Not that he wants to linger on the memories of Kolya’s icy prison, the thick walls and the Wraith’s hand clamped down on his chest - he shudders inwardly when recalling the sharp, mixed pain of the Gift of Life but shows no sign of it outwards. Ronon might’ve noticed though, judging how even more impatient he seems to just shoot all of the life-sucking aliens down and be done with it - but he’s usually like that.

The omega makes sure to rest his hands on his P90, the weapon and his TAC vest shielding his body, but the Wraith’s inhuman eyes are sharp, his senses different. There’s no masking the fact that he’s pregnant, albeit the Wraith makes no comment which is a great relief. With this particular Wraith one can never be sure.

“Yeah, well, sorry about that,” John says and two Jumpers flicker into existence above them.

* * *

The Wraith seems a lot less impressed now, when surrounded by horizontal bars and forcefields.

“I had planned to have this discussion on neutral ground, John Sheppard,” he says.

“Yeah. Problem is, how can we trust you to merely want to discuss something and not have us eaten later on?”

Something glints in the Wraith’s eyes. Is that humour? It’s rather creepy. The pale being takes a step forward and even if there’s a cell between them and no way for the other to reach out and grasp his chest, Ronon growls, thumbing his gun, and John has to hush him to not pull the trigger. If the Wraith has some intel or important news they’d better hear it before busting his head off.

“There is much yet you have to learn about Wraith, Colonel.” The Wraith hints a row of sharp teeth in what could be the start of a smile. “What good would it to do me to reveal my position to your whole base if my intention was to feed? I would rather come unannounced.”

“I’d rather you didn’t come at all,” John retorts with a glare. “What do you want?”

Then, to their surprise, the Wraith begrudgingly admits: “I require your help.”

* * *

A Wraith doesn’t just ask for help. Not without ulterior motives. Not without seeking world domination or something else equally as terrible. Rodney can’t imagine this will end well at all, but John, for some odd reason, seems to trust this Wraith - well, fractionally more than he trusts any other enemy, anyhow, and won’t just shoot his head off and be done with it. And if Todd really is telling the truth about the Replicators’ new tactics ...

_They have begun to annihilate human worlds._

* * *

The world they send the MALP to is dark and turned to ashes, only ruins and corpses left behind. The images leave a foul taste of gall in John’s mouth.

The Wraith wasn’t lying.

* * *

“If we hadn’t reactivated the attack code, none of this would have happened.”

“It was my call, Rodney.”

“But it was my idea! We had a ZedPM, we had Elizabeth - we should’ve gone right then but I had to open my big mouth!”

“You never could have known it would come to this.”

For how could he? He’s not superhuman, however he wishes to believe.

Rodney sighs, tiredly running a hand across his forehead. He looks like he hasn’t slept decently for days. Between receiving these horrible news, realizing the Athosians have been mysteriously taken and being forced to reconsider the possibilities of seeing the future, John doesn’t blame him, but he really should cut back on the coffee if he ever wants to find some rest. “We don't know that for sure. Look, remember the nano-virus we found during our first year here? The one you took out with the EM-pulse? Since realizing their presence I always suspected the Replicators were behind it.”

“But we never proved it,” John cuts in gently, _not your fault, not your fault, let it go._

“Yeah, but we know how they feel about the humans, they think we’re a _mistake!_ We should have seen something like this coming.”

Should have. Always should have.

Time to focus on the present moment, not the past.

* * *

They need to shut down the attack code, but it’s far too complex for even Rodney to do it on his own - well, perhaps if he had a year to do it, but now the deadline is far more pressing than that. They need to do something now.

With the Wraith’s help that is possible but they’ve been down this road before, and never has allying with the Wraith ended in a good way. Something will always come back and bite them one day, but what other choice is there?

They owe this to the Pegasus galaxy. They started this, so it’s their duty to end it.

* * *

And so they end up working with the Wraith again.

The definition of normal is getting skewered for the umpteenth time.

* * *

Three worlds have been wholly destroyed by the Replicators by the time they start working on it, but there could be many more that they are unaware of - the galaxy is a large place, and there are hundreds of planets they yet haven’t visited. The Replicators are swift and emotionless and move from target to target with eerie ease and nondisclosure.

Tens of thousands of lives lost like waste, so many names that will never be remembered.

* * *

Davos the Seer is slowly dying in the infirmary and they can do little but levitate the pain. The man is grateful anyway, ready to face his end.

John isn’t sure what brings him down there. It’s a bit like a compelling gut feeling, a hum in his head; maybe it’s the city that brings him here, Atlantis gently guiding his steps. Rodney and the Wraith - they really have got to name him, since the Wraith himself seems unwilling to share if he even has one - have been working on shutting down the attack code for three days, barely without pause. They’re not in Rodney’s usual labs because of their proximity to the nursery, and John won’t let the Wraith get even a glimpse of their daughter.

Maybe, the omega considers, he can talk to Keller handing him some sleeping pills for his mate. On the other hand, Rodney really needs to see this done and a forced sleep would only make him crankier. Maybe later.

As he arrives, Davos’ daughter is curled up on a couch nearby with a blanket thrown over her, restlessly sleeping.

“Colonel Sheppard,” the man greets. His voice is rougher than before, drained. “I had wondered when you would decide to come.”

Another vision? flashes through John’s head, dangerously, speeding up his heartbeat.

As if knowing he’s not much for chitchat, that he has far too much on his mind to handle any decent conversation, the man holds out a hand. “There is something you should see,” he says, capital S, and John hesitates for a moment, but Rodney had seen the future and it had come to pass true in a manner of speaking. He doesn’t want to be handed more bad news. But the man stares at him insistently, the hand there, and that curious part of him can’t help but reach out and take it and see -

* * *

_\- Rodney, lying still and pale on a cavern floor, his forehead bleeding and he’s kneeling beside him resting his mate’s unconscious form in his lap and holding his head and John stares down at himself, at his silent determined face, as someone nears with a drill humming dangerously close, the question You sure this will work? whispered from somewhere, and the answer leaving John’s lips, certain, It has to (I can’t lose him) -_

_\- the rumble of an engine attacks his eardrums, loud yet distant: one he cannot immediately place because in space all is silent and he’s never flown an F-302 through atmosphere before but there it is, a dark shape cleaving the sky. And he finds himself in the cockpit unable to steer as the craft lifts through Earth’s sky and up and up, breaking into vacuum. There, a large threatening silhouette making it impossible to see the moon, is a hive ship, bigger than any he’s ever seen, and the radio crackles in his ear, a command to turn back which he ignores - The nuke is armed. I'm going in. - he breaks through the hull of the ship, and the F-302 disappears into the hive, Rodney_ _shouting_ No! Stop what you’re doing now! There is another way -

“I am sorry, but this is all that I have seen,” Davos murmurs.

Without speaking a single word, John turns on his heel and leaves, refusing to acknowledge the look of pity on the man’s face.

* * *

Then a second hive heads for the city, and if they know, even if they’re cloaked ...

The Wraith in Rodney’s lab claims, naturally, to have nothing to do with it, that the second hive is the enemy and that firing drones will definitely give away Atlantis’ position. Woolsey is furious, coming closer to yelling than ever before when facing Carter about it and is even more pissed off when John sides with her. The IOA will never condone this. They should take down both the hives and be ready to evacuate the city. John would be glad if Woolsey would just pack his bags and leave and the IOA never having anything to do with Atlantis ever again, but they’ll never be so lucky, will they?

Reluctantly, John heads down to the Chair room.


	11. Chapter 11

The message comes via Midway; it’s not during one of their weekly reports, but the Earth suddenly dialing in, asking for Rodney’s presence on Earth.

It’s the middle of night, and for once John has gotten the alpha to bed instead of worrying over calculations in the lab. He’d seen him email his sister - a rare thing; but after that, he’d actually taken a break, eaten properly in the mess and not in front a computer screen. Marie’s asleep, unaware; they can finally steal a moment, just the two of them. Rodney’s in the middle of worshipping John’s body and his mouth is so hot and tongue extremely talented, and John is very selfishly happy that he’s the only guy to know just _how_ talented. Twisting into the sheets, his back slightly clammy with sweat; satisfaction is coiling through his blood, roaringly; trembling with need and right there on the edge, his breath hitches, he’s so close so close _don’t he dare stop_ -

Then the radio starts quietly shouting.

Rodney’s tongue falters, John swallowing back a curse. Of course the timing has to be the fucking _worst_. With a groan he tries to reign back the impulse to chuck that radio out of Rodney’s hand, to pull him back down. He can’t stop his hips from moving, trembling, muscles clenching. Could’ve at least waited ten more fucking minutes, damn it.

"Uh, McKay here," Rodney says breathlessly and John wonders, paranoid, if others listening on the other side can hear just where the alpha’s mouth was five seconds ago. His hand shifts and John grabs it, moves it to try and make it continue what that amazing tongue was doing and it’s not as good, but Rodney bites his lip, groaning, repeats the motions even as he listens to orders being given.

_"Dr McKay, you’re needed in the control room. We just got a message from Earth."_

"Can’t it wait?! I’m - busy!"

The message won’t disappear if he waited a few minutes; or an hour, perhaps two hours would be sufficient -

 _"It’s urgent,"_ the technician insists.

John’s fingers are buried in his hair, scalding hot, and Rodney shares a noise of disappointment with him.

"- Fine," he snarls, but it turns into a sort of groan half-way. "Give me, uh, five, ten minutes."

At least there’s a transporter relatively nearby. A viable excuse.

But then Samantha Carter enters the conversation and John is so, so glad that he’s had lots of practice being quiet, because his orgasm is not something his superior officer needs to hear ever.

_"It’s your sister, Rodney. She’s been kidnapped."_

* * *

Earth is cold and they’re greeted by a dozen marines waiting in the Gate room, their backs straight and guns relaxed, as the three of them walk down the ramp. The wormhole disengages quietly behind them. John isn’t unaware of the glances his way. He wonders if there was any kind of announcement about his pregnancy here, too, as in Atlantis, or if rumour has only spread through whispers.

"Gentlemen," says the man approaching. His black suit is neat and speckle-free, but his face worried. "I’m Agent Barrett of the NID. Mr. Woolsey has asked me to help you in any way that I can. Sorry that we couldn’t meet under better circumstances."

Rodney skips introductions. They’re not necessary on their part, anyway. Other issues are more important. "Have you gotten any message from the kidnappers yet?"

"Not yet, I’m afraid," Barrett says.

"Well, OK, I need to get to Vancouver."

"The Daedalus is in orbit so it’ll be a short trip."

The guy leads them toward an elevator and John asks, "Any new information yet?" The briefing in Atlantis was short, concise and missing far too may threads. No one knows why this happened, for sure, just inklings; it’s been over twelve hours since it happened. It took some time for word to spread from Canada to the SGC and then to Pegasus. Rodney’s been pacing and acting snappy ever since they heard his sister’s missing.

"No, not yet. The NID is liaising with CSIS on the ground, they’re expecting us."

Unfamiliar with that term John frowns. "C-whatnow?" he asks Rodney, who nods rapidly.

"Canadian Security Intelligence Service; it’s sort of like the CIA."

"'CSIS'. Best you guys could come up with, huh."

Once in the elevator, the agent gives Ronon a side-ways glance. "We will be out in the open, so perhaps a change of clothes first."

The Satedan just grunts. "What?"

* * *

"I look dumb," Ronon announces stepping out of the car. His suit is a little too short and constricting around the chest, but the best they could find on such short notice. John too has switched from his familiar black BDUs to civvies, though he opted for jeans and a jacket slung over a t-shirt. Nowadays some clothes just seem to itch terribly. Not that he’d actually tell anyone about the rashes.

"Helps you blend in," John says, following an agitated Rodney - who’s three steps ahead, slacks a bit askew - and Agent Barrett. They’d arrived in a car along with a bunch of more NID agents, all cleverly inconspicuous as if a spacecraft hadn’t first transported them to the area. The house is swarming with police and people from CSIS, as well as surrounded by curious people on the street, murmuring amongst each other or on the phone, trying to take photographs. Wondering what’s going on. This looks a perfectly calm family neighborhood that’s probably not had a scene like this in years, if ever.

Inside they find Kaleb worriedly fidgeting but pretending to be all fine in front of his daughter. His voice is calm as he talks with her. Madison is sitting by the living room table, colouring with crayons. But they hear her ask, just as they step inside, "Where’s mom?" - and something clenches coldly like ice in John’s chest. No kid should have to ask questions like that.

"She, uh, she - I told you," Kaleb says, voice estranged, "she just had to go away for a little while. But she’s gonna come back soon, OK?"

John wonders what the kid saw, or heard. Half a dozen masked men broke into the house, armed and clad in black - did one of them enter the bedroom where the girl slept, red light pointed at her face, did she wake up with a cry? Did she sleep through it all, never hearing a thing? Oh, god, John hopes she slept through it all. Never noticed. Never saw it.

When seeing them Kaleb’s pale face gains a little bit of colour. A hint of relief; he has hope that they can help them find his wife. Murmuring to his daughter, "Hey, look, it’s your uncle Mer. I’m gonna talk with him a bit, OK?"

"OK, daddy," Madison says. She’s confused and distracted and a little afraid by all these strange people milling about the house. There’s a click of photographs being taken for evidence, fingerprints being collected. As Kaleb stands to approach Rodney, no doubt wanting a word in private him - they’re in-laws, after all - John takes seat on the sofa and the man gives him a faint nod, before heading to the kitchen with Rodney in tow. Ronon lingers on the doorstep, looming and uncaring that he’s an alien on Earth.

"Hey there, Madison," John says. He hasn’t got that much experience with kids her age, except the times he’s spent with the Athosian children, especially during that first year. She looks at him a little uncertainly, a crayon tightly clenched in her hand. "You remember me? I’m John."

The girl looks thoughtful. "You’re married to Uncle Mer," she remembers. She’s bright, Jeannie has been so proud to tell them, and her memory good; she’s already excelling at school. Got to be those McKay family genes, John figures. "Are you like my uncle then too?"

"If you want me to be, yeah, then I’m Uncle John," he smiles. "Whatcha drawing?" He looks at the nearest piece of paper on the table, and she’s relaxing now apparently deciding she likes him, and launches into a vivid explanation of what her drawings are all about. Out of the corner of his eye, John catches Ronon shifting a little from foot to foot, and he gestures the big man to step froward.

"That’s awesome, Madison," John says, smiling at her drawings once she’s finished talking and she beams like a miniature ray of sunshine. Then she sees Ronon - because who wouldn’t? - and points at him curiously. He sticks out rather like a sore thumb.

"You’re really tall," she says.

"That’s because Ronon loves eating his vegetables," John says very seriously, cackling inwardly at that grim face Ronon is making.

"Are you my uncle, too?"

"Uhh," John pauses. "I dunno. Ronon here is a friend of Uncle Mer and I."

"Ronon. That’s a funny name," the girl says. She isn’t the least afraid, turning to the big man with curious eyes. "Do you like drawing?"

* * *

Six minutes later, they’re back from the kitchen. Kaleb picks Madison up, saying, "Come on, we’re going to go away for a bit."

"We’re we going?" she asks. She doesn’t want to leave her home, full of these strangers. It’s clear she’s uneasy, even if she had smiled a little when talking earlier. It’d been a well-needed distraction.

"I’ve booked a room for them at an hotel," Rodney explains. "There’s no reason for them to stick around here." Then he turns to Barrett, who’s been hanging around this whole time; at least the man hasn’t pushed for answers first thing, allowing Kaleb and Rodney to talk thing through first, for things to be explained. John had sensed the man walking by a couple of times earlier, pausing to watch him and Ronon interact with Madison. He wonders, briefly, what the guy is thinking about him and his baby, about Rodney, about it all. The man hasn’t said anything, It’s not why he’s here.

"All right, thanks guys, give us the room, please," Barrett says and quickly it’s just the four of them left. Now they can talk freely, mentioning the SGC if they have to. Not everyone involved here knows about that bit.

"So, where do you wanna start?"

"Jeannie and I were corresponding by email," Rodney explains. "She was, uh - I was bouncing some ideas off her."

"What about?"

"Well, before that Wraith showed up I’d been working on trying to perfect nanite medical program."

"That thing you used to save Weir?" Ronon asks. The reminder, how slight, even it’s been months now, is still harsh. John tries to not let it show on his face.

The alpha nods. "Yeah, a better, more improved, complex version of that. Of course as soon as we found out that the Replicators were attacking human worlds we obviously switched our attention to shutting them off once and for all." His face is pale, pinched and worried and John knows he hasn’t eaten as much as usual or slept well even since those weeks. It’s a shadow, still lingering.

"And you sent Jeannie the program you were working on?" Barrett clarifies.

"With the last dial-in with the SGC, yeah. I just needed a new set of eyes."

"Question is," John says, "what does it have to do with her being taken?"

"Yeah," Rodney says, sighing. "Maybe the Trust or some other Earth-based organization is involved but, regardless, my email and her kidnapping happened too closely together to not be related somehow."

"That sounds like a good place to start," the agent agrees.

Rodney makes a beeline for the desk where his sister’s computer is sitting. "Has anyone touched this?"

"No, I knew you would probably want to have a look at it first."

The alpha takes seat. "We're gonna have to take this thing apart. Look, this is probably going to take awhile," he says, glancing at the omega and Ronon hovering on his shoulder, "so why don’t you go back to the hotel or something?"

"We’re staying," John murmurs.

"Seriously. This could take ten, twelve hours. There’s nothing you guys can do here. I’ll call you if I find anything."

"Right. Well, you’d better find something," John relents.

* * *

It doesn’t take ten or twelve hours. It takes somewhere around eight. But still, it’s enough to start feeling the effects of boredom and enclosure. They’ve lingered at or close to the hotel; there’s a television which Ronon has spent roughly four hours on and off watching with a mixture of curiousity ("How many countries have you got on Earth?" he asks when the news come on) and disdain ("That’s a sport on your world? That’s ridiculous."). As night falls over Vancouver, John has already read through every magazine in the room and he’s made inquires to Barret, to the SGC, to anyone if there’s been any sort of progress. He doesn’t want to disturb Rodney, yet, if he’s onto something.

He takes a nap, or tries to, after they’ve had some takeaway, nicely greasy and hot, though he had trouble keeping it down. When Ronon had shot him a concerned look and tried following to the bathroom to see if he could be of any help, or support, John had just blamed it on the pregnancy and left it at that.

Then, finally, well past midnight, there’s a call. John grabs the phone eagerly, dismissing the newly opened packet of skittles. "Sheppard."

 _"So someone was monitoring my sister’s computer,"_ says Rodney without a greeting. _"I think I’ve cracked their trojan, and I’ve got an address. Barrett and I are on our way there now."_

"Thought you said it was gonna take ten hours," John remarks.

 _"Hey, even I underestimate how smart I am sometimes. Got a pen or something? Here’s the address."_ His mate rattles off a string of words and numbers, and John scribbles them down hurriedly.

"OK, give it a minute and we’ll have a team ready to go," John starts but he hears Rodney shaking his head.

_"Too late: we’re almost there."_

* * *

Too late.

When they get there, they find Barrett on the ground with a bruised face, the alleyway dark and abandoned otherwise. Their anonymous black car is parked on the other side of the road. There’s no sign of Rodney. As the four-man team of marines, graciously borrowed by the SGC, take up position around the area, John and Ronon help the guy on his feet.

"You OK? The hell happened?"

"We were followed," the man groans. "They took McKay."

 _Rodney._ Oh, god.

John taps his radio. "Daedalus, we got a problem. Could you beam us up?"

* * *

Three minutes later, Barrett’s being tended to in the infirmary for a light concussion and John is waiting anxiously by the helm along with a pissed-off Ronon. Colonel Caldwell is frowning. He’s heard the Coles notes on the events.

They try the most obvious thing: to find Rodney via his subcutaneous transmitter. But they find nothing. So whoever took him and his sister has enough intel on the SCG to know about that little detail, and how to remove or disable it. Other than that they have no immediate option. Caldwell is urging to get back to the SCG. This isn’t a situation where they can go in guns blazing; they have no idea where to go.

This has to be done the slow, old-fashioned way.

* * *

"That’s right, sir. They must’ve removed his transmitter," Walter, the tech, says.

"What about that lead you were following?" Ronon asks Barrett. His arms are crossed.

"We had some guys investigate. Turns out it was a small room with a router that reported data to a site in Singapore. After that the trail goes cold."

"So a dead end," John mutters. He tries to appear calm, collected. In charge. He doesn’t want people’s pity or concern just because he’s a pregnant omega whose mate has just been kidnapped - he’s already seen it in the eyes of Caldwell, of General Landry, of Barrett. They are itching with confusion on how to treat him, to react to anything he does or say: should they urge him to go back to Atlantis? to stay put like a good, dutiful omega? should they instead urge him onward, allow him to pick a gun and fight? At least there’s been no orders thrown around demanding that he stays under lock and key at the SCG or in Pegasus.

"We got our best IT guys on the job, but we’re not sure how long it’ll take for them to come up with something. We’re gonna start tracing the paper trail and hopefully something’ll turn up," the agent says. His eyes are going to turn nicely black in a few hours, John can bet. His ambushers hadn’t been kind, but they hadn’t killed him, so there’s that. "Look, we got half the Vancouver PD on this one."

Half of it, all of it, it might not matter if the kidnappers are good enough. Clever enough. They obviously have information about the Stargate program. Maybe even insiders are involved. The scope is huge and the implications too.

* * *

They’re drowning in cardboard boxes full of information and John struggles to not just let the words swim meaninglessly past his eyes. Walter’s been finding and delivering more data for hours. Now would be a really good time for a thermos of coffee. Since he’s under strict orders by Keller not as much as even _smell_ real proper coffee, John tries making up for it by drinking tea. If anything it only makes the pressure on his bladder ten times worse.

"We’re going in circles here," he says.

Ronon grunts. He’s been doing his best helping out, but even if he can read English, these papers are just full of mumbo-jumbo for him. He doesn’t have the background necessary to understand most of these things. It’s just boring as hell - he wants to shoot something. "I don’t even get what we’re doing."

"We’re trying to match the corporations," Barrett explains, as if that could help ease Ronon’s mood at all. Honestly, this guy is one of the most patient men John’s ever met. Maybe that’s why he’s an NID agent. "See, the company that rented the internet space for that router was owned by another company, which was owned by another, and another, and another."

"Trying to connect a company that was monitoring Jeannie’s computer to a company that might have wanted to take her for whatever reason," John adds.

"One probably owned by the Trust, we just haven’t found the connection yet," the Agent finishes with a nod.

"One that knew how to shut down the transmitter."

"Exactly. The fact that they even knew about the transmitter tells us that they’re pretty intimate with the operations of the Stargate program. Again: the Trust."

John shifts. Tries to ignore how junior’s stretching their legs and aiming right for his kidney. "Maybe we should try widening the net. What if it wasn’t one of them?"

Barrett looks thoughtful. Shrugs a little. "Are there any other known enemy groups?"

"Or an ally," Ronon puts in. At least this talk he can follow.

"The Chinese, Russians ..."

But John isn’t on that path. No, there’s something, this detail that’s struck him. "Rodney was working on the nanite medical program ... But earlier when trying to shut down the Replicators - was he working in tandem with anyone here on Earth?"

The agent shakes his head. "No. Not that I know of." Then. "Wait! There was a medical company, that was working on a similar nanite program, but we or McKay hadn’t any direct dealings with them."

They may be onto something. Oh, let them be.

"Now which company was that?"

"I don’t know. Give me a sec and I’ll find out." The man stands, reaching for his phone.

At the same time Ronon gets to his feet.

"Where are you going?" John asks, albeit he knows that Ronon feels put off and useless because he knows too little about the intricacies of Earth to dissect corporate structures - he needs someone to point a gun at, at this point.

"To get some food. You want any?"

"Nah. Wait, see if they got some skittles in the mess."

Ronon smirks. "Will do."

* * *

"We got it. We have an address." Barrett is a little out of breath as he announces this.

"The Daedalus still in orbit?" A nod. John taps his earpiece. "Caldwell, this is Sheppard. We have a lead."


	12. Chapter 12

As it turns out, the searching and retrieving was the easy part.

* * *

"So, she’s been put in a medically induced coma and I broke her legs."

"You _broke her legs?_ "

"Yes. Look, a direct trauma was necessary to keep the nanites occupied. And if we get them shut down before she’s healed, all she’s got is a few broken bones."

"Instead of a disease she’d have to fight off on her own."

"Right. This buys us ten hours, at least. We can’t keep doing this forever, though. At one point the nanites will abandon her bones and go straight for her epilepsy."

This is so fucking screwed up. John, sighing, runs a hand through his hair.

"Can’t we just blast her with an EM-pulse?" suggest Barrett.

"No. These nanites have been specifically designed withstand things like that. It wouldn’t work. They’re immune. Look, as embarrassing as I find this to say ... I need some help to shut these things down."

* * *

The Wraith walking stiffly through the wormhole and into the underground of Cheyenne is bound tight, and there are dozens of guns pointed at it. It looks around the grey room with tired eyes. It’s been a prisoner in the cells in Atlantis for almost two weeks now, ever since the events that began with Davos the seer - or maybe before that. (It all begun with the Replicators, with that damn line of code unleashing them, of their desire to have the Wraith and Replicators fight each other instead of the human population.

And look how that turned out.)

If it doesn’t cooperate, then they have no idea what to do.

"Why have you brought me here?" it asks. It looks at him. John is aware that he’s one of the few people that this Wraith will look in the eye and talk with on almost equal grounds, not just mockingly. The same goes for Rodney, sort of, though more for practical reasons than any others.

* * *

"We need your help. And what do you care? We’re going to kill you either way, is that what you’re thinking?" A breath. Rodney stumbles on the words, unsure of how to put this. How to convince a Wraith to help them. The lab is full of heavily armed marines amongst the blinking, blipping machines. "OK, OK. Incentives. So, first off we have no interest in killing you. ’Course you already figured that out by now, but, we can’t let you go either because of the knowledge you have on us, on Atlantis - unless that you could prove that you’re trustworthy. And this would go a long way towards proving that."

The Wraith is sighing now. About to roll its eyes at these young, childish creatures.

"Right. Yeah, pretty sure I wouldn’t buy that either."

The point. He steps closer. They’re running out of time.

"Got any relatives? Do Wraith have brothers and sisters? I, I don’t know how it works for you."

It tilts its head slowly. Looking at him. Considering something, albeit what is hard to tell. And Rodney suddenly doesn’t feel afraid of this Wraith. There’s something hauntingly - human in its eyes, just an echo but a strong enough reminder that once, long ago, they both had human ancestors. All until the Ancient screwed up and let those Iratus bugs evolve on the same planet as a human colony, or the other way around, it doesn’t matter - it all got out of hand, and here they are. But then the look disappears as quick as it had come.

"With us, my people, those bonds mean a lot." He can’t care about the marines listening, watching. His sister’s about to face something worse than death. "My sister’s in trouble and it’s pretty much all my fault. You could help us, you could save her."

The Wraith yawns. More of a point than a sign that it’s actually tired. Rodney wants to curse, wants to scream at himself for being so stupid, so naive to think that this’d actually work. "Doesn’t mean anything to you, does it. Guess it wouldn’t mean much to me either if I was in your place. OK. OK. You and I both know that if we can figure out how to shut down these Earth-made nanites, it would be a giant step towards shutting down the Replicators. I know you lost your hive – I have no idea how horrible that must have been for you. But knowing that they’re still out there – that you alone could do something about it – that’s got to be driving you crazy. So don’t do this for me. Don’t ... don’t do this for my sister. Do this for yourself. Do this because you know you can and because you know it’ll help destroy the Replicators once and for all."

If John could hear him now, he’s not sure if his mate would be proud or just astounded of this little speech. Most people sure would be. Most people don’t think he’s even capable of smiling, so this hint of emotion, of empathy and actual thought patterns that don’t relate to physics or coffee - well, that’s a rare thing in their eyes, for Dr Rodney McKay.

Finally the Wraith meets his gaze.

"What do you say?"

And for the first time in his life Rodney says to a Wraith: "Thank you."

* * *

Then, after five and a half hours, the Wraith collapses onto the cold concrete floor.

* * *

"What if he’s faking? What if he’s just milking it for a hot meal?"

"No, I believe him. He can’t finish the coding without feeding. I understand exactly what he’s doing, but he’s far more versed at implementing it than I am. Maybe if I had a couple of weeks, but he’s the only one that can do it in a day." And they don’t have much more time than that.

"I don’t know what to say, but the NID is not gonna provide us with a human for him to feed on."

"I know," Rodney says. It needs to be me."

_"What?!"_

"I want him to feed on me."

"You wanna what?!"

"Let him feed off me – get his strength back, then he can finish the coding and save Jeannie."

"Then what? Force him to give you your life back? He’s not gonna do that."

Rodney can’t be thinking about that. About abandoning it all, himself, his life - he can’t. _He can’t -_

"Sharon died half an hour ago," the alpha says abruptly. The daughter of the kidnapper. The girl was just, what, ten years old? twelve? John isn’t sure, it’s not what he’s been focusing on. He hasn’t even seen her face - doesn’t want to be distracted. The girl is the reason why all this is happening; a father’s desperate last ditch attempt to save her from leukemia.

"I don’t understand. What happened? I thought the nanites were ..."

"This time it wasn’t a problem with the programming. It was a manufacturing defect. In layman’s terms, the nanites ran out of steam while they were repairing her arteries. She bled out internally. There was nothing we could do." Rodney pauses, looking at him. His face is pained and dark, and it’s difficult to look into his eyes because they’re so raw with emotion. "I can’t lose my sister, John. How am I gonna explain it to her husband, to her kid?"

John wants to selfishly scream: _What am I gonna tell Marie? And how could you even dare do this to me, to **us**?_

Instead, shakily, he says, "That Wraith’ll kill you." Can’t Rodney see that? Can’t he understand what the hell that means? The domino effects. Like walking into the slaughterhouse, and leaving a trail of shadows behind him. Everything they’ve fought for - laid aside.

But, Jeannie’s his sister.

Because what is their bond, their daughter, really when weighed to his sister?

(John doesn’t want to know the answer.)

"It’s my choice to make."

It’s difficult to breathe.

"No, it’s not, Rodney," John chokes out. Then takes a breath, trying to force himself to be calm, to make every word clear. But blood is rushing so loudly past his ears, he feels like he’s entered a corridor, everything’s turning blurry around the edges. There a cold lake and he’s in the middle of it slipping into the murky depths. "Rodney. You can’t."

Through his rising pulse, he feels Rodney suddenly reaching out and a hand on his stomach.

"I, I’m sorry," Rodney whispers. His eyes are wet. "But I got to do this. She’s here because of me. I can’t fix the problem, but I can help the guy who can. Look, this was not an easy decision to make. I ..." The alpha’s hand is trembling and John desperately covers it with his own.

"I can’t let you." _Please, Rodney. Understand._ "As your commanding officer I’m **forbidding** you." He hates having to pull rank but it’s true, Rodney’s on his team and he’s the commanding officer and Rodney has to see -

"Please."

"... I'm sorry."

* * *

In-between the photos of Kaleb, his wife and Madison, John has snuck in another and Henry Wallace gets just a glimpse of it, half-hidden under the images of Jeannie laughing with her daughter at a playground somewhere in Vancouver.

It’s a photo someone on Atlantis took just a couple of months ago - Chuck, if he recalls correctly; he’s one of the few on base who actually takes the time to document things other than scientific results and military actions - before the disaster with the Replicators’ new tactics, before the annihilation of human worlds. They’re on a balcony, John and Rodney; and there’s Teyla too, along with Kanaan at his mate’s side, and Ronon who is sitting on the far side of the table. They’re sharing a meal and talking vividly under the brilliant sun, the wide Lantean sea stretched out behind them all the way to the horizon. The angle provides a clear view of the little girl sitting in John’s lap and Rodney’s arm around his shoulders while Marie, proudly showing off her tiny growing teeth, has grabbed a possessive hold of Rodney’s sleeve. It’s clear who the father is of that child, who ought to be the father of the baby he’s carrying right now. Wallace glances at him, at the pregnant belly, visibly trying not to look. Struggling.

It’s a rare snapshot of peace and joy that occurs far too rarely in Pegasus, with all the dangers constantly hovering overhead. There are no guns in the picture, no shields, no worried frowns. They weren’t talking about the Wraith at that moment - no, that was right after finding out about Teyla and Kanaan’s baby. They’re celebrating (a rare thing: happiness and peace is a thing to long for, to grasp hard, to savour). There’s an Athosian delicacy that’s ridiculously complicated to make that they’re digging in, and Marie’s got whipped cream smeared around her mouth and nose. Hands are clasped and eyes gleaming with joy, heads half-turned in attention to the guy behind the camera, someone waving their hand in greeting.

He puts them on the table, a picture of Kaleb and Madison on top. There are ribbons in the girl’s hair and the man is smiling proudly. Jeannie was the one who had taken the photo, Kaleb had told him with a broken voice, at the girl’s last birthday. “This is Kaleb, Jeannie’s husband,” John supplies softly, “and their five year old daughter Madison.”

The man’s breath is shaking.

His daughter is dead.

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” Wallace whispers hoarsely. “I only wanted ...”

His daughter is dead.

John’s guts are clenched tight, his chest hurting a little on the inside. He can’t imagine - _doesn’t want to imagine_ \- what it must feel like. What is going through Wallace’s head right now. But that doesn’t change the fact that this man kidnapped Jeannie and Rodney, threatened them, injected his mate’s sister with nanites. It doesn’t change the fact that Rodney wants to offer himself as a meal to a Wraith - and John can **never** let that happen.

“I’m sorry,” John murmurs quietly.

The man doesn’t respond at first. Then, he asks, “What about Mrs Miller?”

“She’s going to die.”

“I,” Wallace starts - hesitates - takes a breath, then continues - “I never meant for this to happen. Is there _nothing_ ...?”

“Well,” John says, with deliberation, “there is this expert on nanotechnology we have brought in. And he was close, very close.”

“But ... what?”

“He collapsed. He is - well, you have hacked into our files. You know of the program, the Stargate. He’s a native - you get what that means, Wallace?”

“An alien.” The man sounds winded. Can’t really understand it. What it means.

“Yes. He collapsed from hunger.”

“Then, then why don’t you just - give him something to eat?”

He doesn’t understand. For how could he possibly know to understand?

“Unfortunately he has some...some dietary requirements that we cannot fulfil. He’s what we call a Wraith. And they feed on humans. On our life force, our essence. We are their livestock. We can’t feed him, see? There is nothing we can do. We have others working on the issue, including Rodney, but - this guy could solve this in a day if he had that time. But he’s starving. There’s nothing we can do.”

Wallace sits quiet and shocked for a moment. Then looks down at the photos, at the broken life scattered on the table, at his own.

His daughter is dead.

* * *

John makes sure Rodney is kept locked out from the lab long enough. To not let him know beforehand - he’d try to stop them. 

General Landry doesn’t protest when the decision has been made, when the man has offered - when John has made him volunteer - when there’s no other option left. The man just looks at him in dark understanding. It shouldn’t have to have come to this, but what’s done is done. (The alpha hadn’t quoted something or someone, which is kind of rare for him. He hadn’t jokingly smiled, saying something of the lines of 'Losing Dr McKay would be bad business.' He’d just said, "I understand why you’re making this call, John." It’s the first time John remembers being addressed by first name by the man.)

Madison will have her mother back.

Hopefully, hopefully Rodney will see that and understand.

* * *

“He _volunteered,”_ Rodney says, frowning.

John keeps staring blankly into the magazine he’s been pretending to read for the past half hour. “Yes.”

“All on his own volition.”

And the omega’s knuckles whitens. He’s seen men die before. He has caused men to die before. This is not so different. Shouldn’t be. A tired, ragged sigh shudders through his body. “What do you want me to say, Rodney? Jeannie’s OK. Madison has her mom now.” And, he doesn’t say aloud but is certain Rodney can hear anyway, _you are still here and our children haven’t lost a father._

That is what he set out to do. To fix. And he could never, ever have let Rodney lay down his life like that, not even to save his sister, not when there was another option. Perhaps that is selfish and cruel, to take such risks and make demands like that and forcibly pull his mate away from his sister; but John could never have let that happen. That’s just the way it is, now. It’s too late for regrets.

(Wallace had nothing left - his daughter is dead.)


End file.
